Holding Out For a Hero
by Wordsplat
Summary: Medieval AU. When Tony was a prince and Steve was his manservant, they were young and reckless and hopelessly in love. But an attack on Tony's life convinces Steve that he can't protect Tony, so he leaves in the dead of night to train until he can. Ten years later, Steve returns to the kingdom a strong and able knight, but his king is both furious and broken-hearted. Steve/Tony.
1. Chapter 1

"Tony, I know you can put on your own armor," Steve sighed fondly, though he stepped forward to begin strapping on the chest piece anyway.

They were in Tony's bedchamber. It was Tony's eighteenth birthday, and as such, he had a competition this afternoon to prove his worth as heir to Midgard's throne and officially accept the title of prince. He would have no trouble, Steve was certain; Tony was an incredibly talented swordfighter. They'd even sparred themselves a few times, though Steve was both scrawny and uncoordinated and had never stood a chance. Still. They'd had fun.

They'd known each other since they were children. Steve's mother had worked as a maid in the castle, and after his father's death she'd had to start bringing him to work. He'd wandered off within the first few moments of the first day, and bumped into a boy around his age with wild hair and a wilder grin. Without so much as pausing, the boy had grabbed his wrist and yanked him along with a shout of _keep up, or Rhodey's gonna get us! _They'd been running around together ever since.

Rhodey, Pepper and Happy, children of King Howard's court members, were a part of their close-knit group, but it was Steve and Tony who became inseparable. It was Steve Tony turned to at every pass, Steve he told everything, Steve he relied on. They'd been best friends since they were five years old, and when Steve's mother passed when he was twelve, it was Tony's shoulder he cried on. It was Tony who found a solution, who demanded to his father that Steve be made his manservant so Steve would have a place to live at the castle. As they'd grown, Steve had seen Tony take on every knight in the kingdom at one point or another—he was indeed a wonderful fighter, but he'd make an even better king someday.

"And deprive you of the pleasure?" Tony smirked, curling a hand around the back of Steve's neck.

"The pleasure," Steve murmured, leaning into the touch, "Was stripping you out of it."

They'd begun seeing each other on Tony's sixteenth birthday, when Steve had asked Tony what he wanted and Tony had grabbed him by the shirt and kissed him hard enough to bruise. It was treason, of course—Tony was to be king. He was to wed a woman, produce heirs, and rule over the country with someone strong and capable at his side. Steve could provide none of those things. He was a scrawny orphan of a poor bloodline, with little past and less of a future. He had no place in Tony's life but as his friend and servant. Their courtship was dangerous to Tony's future as king, and a secret so forbidden they couldn't even tell their friends.

Which had done nothing at all to stop Steve from kissing Tony back with fervor.

"Would you prefer I found someone else to assist me?" Tony arched a teasing eyebrow.

"I'd kill the man who tried to take my place." Steve kissed him sweetly.

Tony hummed happily into it, hands warm against Steve's neck. After a moment, he began to unbuckle his chest piece, and Steve laughed against his lips. He smacked Tony's shoulder in reprimand.

"The competition's in half an hour, stop undoing my progress."

"Oh, but I'm so sick." Tony faked a cough. "Deathly ill. Don't think I can make it."

"Well, if you're sick, I suppose I ought to leave you alone, let you rest up and get better…" Steve stepped back, playing along.

"Bed rest is very important." Tony caught him by the belt, tugged him closer. "But I'll need someone to keep me warm while I recover, and I know just the man."

"Go to your competition." Steve gave him a quick peck, going to pick up the belt for Tony's scabbard off the table.

"For to the victor go the spoils?" Tony waggled his eyebrows, giving Steve's backside a lingering, purposeful look.

"You know full well you'll get your 'spoils' win or lose," Steve corrected with a fond roll of his eyes. He stepped back over, tugging Tony to him. He looped the belt around Tony's waist, fastening it tight and kissing him softly when he'd finished. Eventually, he pulled back to grin. "But do try and win."

Once Tony was suited up and ready for the competition, Steve gave him one last good luck kiss before they headed out of Tony's chambers and into the hallway. Rhodey joined them along the way, clapping a hand to Tony's shoulder.

"Happy birthday, my liege."

"Oh, forget the formalities." Tony waved a hand at him. "Ready to get your ass handed to you?"

"Save it." Rhodey rolled his eyes with a grin. "Birthday or not you're going to have to fight for that title of yours, Stark."

"Like I couldn't take you any day of the week." Tony snorted.

Tony and Rhodey had been sparring regularly since they were children; Tony was better, but Rhodey was the only one besides King Howard who could give Tony a real run for his money. They turned down the hall, exiting the castle and heading out into the courtyard. When they entered the arena, the crowd erupted into cheers—Tony was beloved by his people. Once they began to die down, King Howard raised a hand, called for silence.

"Anthony." The King greeted with a nod of his head. "James."

Steve didn't merit an address from the King. He melted back as he was supposed to, leaving Tony's side and moving away to the healing tent. He watched from there as King Howard made his opening speech and paired the knights off. Tony was clearly impatient for his fight, though to anyone but Steve it would hardly be noticeable. He was good at masking things like that, after eighteen years of practice, but Steve had had nearly as long to figure him out.

Once Tony's first match ended, Steve waved him over. Tony shook his head. Steve shot him a hard look. Tony made a face, but complied.

"How in the hell do you get him to listen to you?" Rhodey marveled beside him.

"Oh, he doesn't listen to me," Steve dismissed it, "He's just doing what he's supposed to."

"Because Tony's so well known for doing what he's supposed to." Rhodey rolled his eyes with a wry smile. "It has nothing at all to do with heeding to your call like a wayward dog."

"I'm here, I'm here," Tony approached them before Steve could reply to Rhodey, taking Steve by the arm and leading him into the tent with a grouchy, "Well, come on you mother hen, hurry up, I've got another match soon."

Steve put Rhodey's comment out of his mind, and tended to Tony's wounds. He'd done well in his first match and had no more bruises and scrapes than usual, nothing serious. Steve made him sit down anyway, wet a rag to clean him up with.

"Aw, leave it," Tony complained, "It makes me look tough."

"Hush," Steve just told him, dabbing the blood off his forehead.

Once he'd finished, he sent Tony off with a discrete squeeze of the shoulder for good luck. The rest of the fights went much the same, Tony refusing to come over until Steve insisted, but that was par for the course. It was only in the final fight that Tony sustained serious injury, a deep gash to his side. Steve felt the usual urge to go to Tony's side at once, help him walk to the tent, but restrained himself. It wasn't his place, and even if it had been, it would have made Tony look weak to the crowd he was supposed to be proving his worth to. None of that made Steve feel any better, of course, and the minute Tony entered the tent Steve gripped his shoulder tightly and forced him into a chair.

"Steve—" Tony started, but Steve shook his head sharply.

One of the healers moved forward to take over, but Tony waved him away. Steve cleaned the gash out and bandaged him in silence, his hands lingering over the bloodied skin worriedly. He was careful in washing the blood off, trying to minimize any pain Tony felt from having the wound prodded at. After roughly ten minutes or so everyone was called to the arena for the victor's ceremony, and the tent began to empty. Tony moved purposefully slow. When the last of the others left and they had the tent to themselves for a moment, Tony lowered his voice.

"I'm alright, darling. I can take a hit."

"I know," Steve answered, "Not my favorite thing to watch, but. I know."

Tony smiled, took his hand.

"Any last words before I officially become your prince?"

They couldn't kiss here—couldn't kiss anywhere that wasn't Tony's bedchamber with the door bolted, it was far too risky—but they could speak candidly without being overheard, if they were careful and quiet.

"You've always been my prince." Steve placed his other hand over Tony's.

"I'm terrified," Tony admitted softly.

"You're going to be wonderful," Steve told him earnestly, "And someday, you're going to be the best king this world's ever seen. I believe that with all my heart, Tony."

Tony couldn't quite manage to hide the fragility of his smile. He leaned closer, resting his forehead against Steve's chest. He took a deep breath, and Steve could feel the shakiness of his exhale. Steve raised his hands to Tony's hair, ran them through it soothingly. Tony embraced him fully, clutching to him tightly for a long moment before releasing him to stand, separate. They couldn't stay that way any longer, someone was bound to come to retrieve Tony any minute now.

"I love you." Tony squeezed his hand once before letting go. "Happy two years."

"And I you." Steve smiled. "Happy two years."

The ceremony was long, and the celebration even longer; it was past nightfall when it ended. It was a glorious party and a delicious feast, and Tony had the time of his life, nerves apparently forgotten. By the end of it all, Tony was worn so thin he looked about ready to collapse into his food. Once they finally made it back to Tony's chambers, Steve expected a brief kiss goodnight and to be on his way so Tony could sleep it off. Instead, Tony pulled Steve into the room, shrugging out of his clothes and slipping off his shoes as he went, before falling right into bed and dragging Steve in after him by the wrist.

"Tony, I—"

"Just a few minutes." Tony was already curling up against Steve's chest like a cat, closing his eyes with a tired exhale.

"You know I can't stay."

It was all too likely someone would try and enter the chamber before one or both of them woke, and leave them with far too much explaining to do. Steve had only ever stayed the night once, their first time, when they'd been too tired afterwards and fallen asleep before either of them could consider the consequences. King Howard had come to retrieve Tony in the morning, and it was purely a miracle that the sound of the key unlocking the door had woken Steve in time for him to roll off the bed and hide underneath. They hadn't dared try again.

"I know, I just…" Tony opened his eyes again, his voice soft and small. Tony could ask him to walk off a cliff in that voice and Steve wouldn't hesitate. "I need you here, tonight. Just until I fall asleep. Please."

Future kings were taught not to say please; it displayed weakness. Utterances during their nights together aside, Steve could count on one hand the times he'd heard Tony say please and genuinely mean it. He was fairly certain he was the only person Tony had ever even said it to. He settled his arms around Tony in answer, pulling him closer and getting comfortable. Tony breathed an audible sigh of relief, of gratitude, before closing his eyes. He didn't open them again, his breathing evening out within moments. He must've been truly exhausted. Steve stayed long past when he could've left, reveling in the part of Tony that belonged so purely to him.

He'd been considering getting up when he heard someone try the door.

Steve couldn't be certain of the exact time, but he knew it was far beyond the time anyone should be awake and entering Tony's chambers. He roused Tony quickly and quietly, holding a finger to his lips. Tony nodded drowsily, then came to full attention as he heard the rattle of the knob as well. No one ought to be entering Tony's chambers this late to begin with, but the fact that they didn't seem to have a key made it all the more unnerving. As Steve slid off the bed and darted towards the table, he heard the sound of a key finally slotting into place. He quickly slipped into the shadows, his back against a wall; the room was dark enough that the intruder wouldn't see him coming, at least.

"Obie?" Tony's confused voice called. Steve wasn't at the right angle to see well enough to tell, but Tony could probably see by the light of the hallway. "It's the middle of the night."

"Yet, you're awake." That was definitely the voice of King Howard's malicious advisor, Obadiah. Tony saw him as an uncle of sorts; Steve thought he was a snake. "Pity, that."

"What are you talking about?" Tony still sounded dazed.

"Let's not clutter this with smalltalk." Obadiah advanced across the room with purpose. Steve caught the glitter of a knife in his hand and stepped out of the shadows before Obadiah could get any farther.

"Back off," Steve growled.

"Have I ever mentioned how impossible your manservant is to separate from you?" Obadiah sneered to Tony over Steve's shoulder. "I've tried before, but he's like a damn dog with a bone. I think he's got a bit of a crush on you."

"What are you—?" Tony began.

"Save it." Obie sneered, then attacked.

Steve wasn't exactly well-trained, but he'd hoped he could at least manage to fend Obadiah off long enough for Tony to get to his sword. Obadiah was the King's advisor though, was skilled and had far more experience than Steve did—three quick moves and the handle end of the knife struck Steve's skull. He blacked out immediately.

* * *

When Steve woke, he was in the royal infirmary.

He'd been there a handful of times before—Tony was quite danger prone, no matter how much Steve tried to watch out for him—but never for his own injuries. He raised a hand to his throbbing head, and felt dried blood. He looked around quickly, heart racing, before he spotted Tony just two beds over. He stood, sluggish—he must've been medicated—but determined, forcing his limbs to move towards Tony. He collapsed into a kneel at Tony's bedside, close enough now to take Tony's wrist.

He felt for a pulse, and his very bones ached with relief when he found it, beating slowly but steadily. Tony was topless and bandaged heavily around the chest, though blood had still seeped through. It looked old, so Steve didn't think he was still bleeding, but it was an horribly unsettling sight regardless. He had a long nick along his arm as well, but nothing else. Steve leaned forward, resting his head against Tony's side and giving a shaky, relieved exhale. His breath against Tony's skin made Tony stir; Steve raised his head and hand, stroking Tony's hair back soothingly.

"Sleep," he murmured. Tony settled again.

Steve left only briefly to use the chamberpot, but when he returned Tony was awake, sitting up and, predictably, making a scene. The healer was present too, shaking her head and trying to get Tony to lie back down. Steve assumed it was because Tony wanted out of the infirmary. He was wrong.

"—I don't know, I swear to you he was here a moment ago, but you must lie down my lord, you'll tear your wound open again—"

"Stop bothering with me and find him!" Tony ignored her completely, thrashing worse. "If he's been hurt by your negligence, I swear, I'll have you beheaded so fast it'll make your head spin right off of it's own accord—"

"That seems rather harsh." Steve stepped into the room, trying valiantly to hide a fond smile that Tony would worry over such a brief absence.

"Where in the hell have you been?" Tony demanded, but the relief was painfully visible on his face. Steve felt guilty for being pleased. "I thought Obie—Obadiah, I mean, he hit you, and you didn't wake up, and I saw a healer take you away last night but you weren't here when I woke up, and I, I thought…"

"I'm fine, my liege." Steve nodded his head, crossing the room. "Just left for a moment. Lie back down and stop giving the healer trouble for once, would you?"

"I thought you dead." Tony grit his teeth hard, overcompensating with anger to hide the fear in his voice.

"I assure you, I'm fine." Steve took a seat on the bed next to Tony's, opposite the healer. "Knocked around a bit, that's all."

"'Knocked around a bit', he says." Tony scowled. "The man was bludgeoned across the skull, and he wonders why I worry."

"What happened to him?" Steve directed his question to the healer. Tony would only give him half-truths and a bluster of 'I'm fine's.

"Lord Stane stabbed him in the chest." Steve liked the healer. No nonsense. Didn't even pause when Steve stopped breathing at her words, very professional. "Not deep, Prince Anthony killed him before he could, but it's deep enough that he's going to be on bed rest for a few weeks."

"And what am I supposed to do in here for weeks, hm?" Tony demanded, "Lay about? Do _paperwork? _I'll be fine within a day or two, surely—"

"Surely_ not_," Steve insisted to him firmly, then thanked the healer, who stood to leave. "I'll watch over him now, ma'am. Thank you."

"Why do I even have a manservant?" Tony complained, "One more person telling me what to do all the damn time."

"As if you've ever listened to anyone else." The healer snorted on her way out.

There was a brief moment of silence after the door shut, before Tony's front of peeved distress broke, softened to relief. He smiled up at Steve tenderly.

"I don't think we're quite as subtle as we think we are."

"Perhaps not," Steve admitted.

"Pepper knows." Tony sighed. "Of course she does, Pepper knows everything. But. She came to me about it yesterday. Something about the fondness of my tone gave me away, apparently."

"And?"

"And Pepper may know everything, but that doesn't mean she's always right."

"I'm not sure that makes as much sense as you think it does."

"I love you, Steve." Tony rolled onto his side a bit to take Steve's hand, clasp it tightly. "You belong to me, and I to you. I won't give you up."

"What did Pepper say, exactly?"

"Nothing of import." Tony huffed. "Duty. Betrothal. Heirs. Other such boring matters."

"Your future, you mean."

"My prison."

"Don't be so ungrateful." Steve glanced around the thankfully empty room, then pressed a kiss to Tony's temple to soften his words. "You've been gifted, Tony. You have great power, and the wisdom and judgment to use it to it's full potential."

"I'm not arguing. I would like very much to be king one day; I'd like it more with you by my side."

"That's not possible."

"Men find their happiness with other men in my kingdom all the time, should their king not be allowed to do the same?"

"Not when he must produce an heir."

"So my second-cousin's child will take the throne after me." Tony sat up, pulled Steve's hands closer. "What do I care who follows me? They originate from the same line, they will rule just as well as any child of mine—"

"The Stark line has ruled for centuries, and with reason. You all rule wisely, with sure judgment and fair, intelligent minds. You can't damage the future of an entire kingdom for one man."

"Two men," Tony corrected insistently, a touch wistfully, "I want to be happy, Steve. My cousin is related, his line is just as noble—"

"It's not, and you know that."

"Marry me."

"I won't."

"Another life, another world—would you?" Tony demanded desperately, "Were it just you and me, would—"

"I'd accept your hand in a heartbeat, of course I would. You know that I would." Steve clasped Tony's hand in his tightly. "But that's not the world we live in."

"It could be."

"It's not right, Tony." Steve shook his head. "To run away from your responsibilities, your kingdom? I won't let you."

Guilt began to worm it's way into Steve's heart. He'd never begrudged Tony his destiny, not when Tony so thoroughly deserved it, but Steve had always assumed he could at least stay Tony's friend, his manservant if nothing else. What use was he if he couldn't even provide a proper distraction? Not yet a king, and Tony was already a target. He would only become more so in time, and he would need a manservant who could actually provide him with safety, with protection. It was his fault Tony was in this condition. If he'd have grabbed the sword—no. He knew nothing about how to wield a sword. He still would've been bested, Tony still would've been injured. Tony was everything he had, and Steve couldn't even keep him safe. What use was he to Tony like this?

And Steve knew Tony would let his weakness for Steve guide his decision. Tony had _always _let his weakness for Steve guide his decisions, proposing to him being a prime example. Tony would keep him on forever, and what if there was another attack? Another time Steve was helpless, and Tony died for it? No. Tony needed someone useful to be his guardian, and if Steve ever wanted a chance to be that, he needed to become more than he was now.

He waited until Tony fell asleep again. He glanced around to assure they were alone, then pressed a kiss to Tony's forehead before exiting the infirmary. He headed to his chambers, searching for a quill and some parchment. When he found it, he sat at his desk, dipped the tip of the quill in the ink, and began to write.

_My dearest Anthony,_

_First and foremost, I apologize. I failed you. It has become clear to me that I cannot protect you as I am now, and you deserve more than I can provide. Much as I love you, you must do what is right for your kingdom. You will marry someone else one day, and if you treat her with half as much love as you did me, she will be the luckiest woman alive. If I am to have a place in your future, it will be as your manservant and guardian; I cannot be that to you if I cannot protect you. I wish many things, but most of all, I wish to stay by your side. Unfortunately, to do so, I must leave it for a time. I am leaving to train, to become as strong as you need me to be. When I can protect you as you deserve, I will return to you. This I promise._

_I love you with all that I am._

_Steven Grant Rogers_

He folded the note up and tucked it within an envelope, writing Tony's full name on the front. He returned to the infirmary shortly, sat by Tony's side to tuck the note into Tony's shirt pocket. He stayed there a little longer, perhaps longer than he should have, saying his quiet goodbyes. He stoked Tony's hair back, and had a brief moment of doubt—then Tony stirred, made a distressed gasping noise that was clearly pain. His wound must've begun to ache again in his sleep.

This was Steve's fault, and staying would only give Stane and men like him a better opening at Tony. Leaving would open a space in Tony's life to be filled by someone stronger, more capable, until Steve was strong and capable enough to retake it himself.

It would only be a few years. Then, they could have the rest of their lives.


	2. Chapter 2

_Ten Years Later_

Tony recognized him immediately.

He'd gained at least a hundred pounds of muscle and a couple feet in height, but Tony would recognize the eyes that still haunted his dreams anywhere. He rode into the arena on a dark horse, covered in a knight's armor but without a helmet. Their eyes met across the field briefly and though he glanced away immediately, heading for the stables to dock his horse, Tony _knew._

Steve had returned to him.

"Something wrong?" Bruce, two seats away, leaned in to ask. He must've caught the troubled look on Tony's face.

"It's nothing," Tony dismissed.

Bruce had never known Steve, had only come to work at the castle after Steve had vanished. He wouldn't know Steve came from a poor family, that his family line would never allow him to amount to anything more than a serving boy, but it was still best to wait. See how Steve wished this to play out.

"As you say, my liege." Bruce nodded, clearly unconvinced.

Bruce was his court mage, but more importantly one of his closest friends; in private, there were no pretenses of 'my liege' between them. However, they were presiding over the knight's arena at the moment, where any number of other court members or commoners could hear them and Bruce knew that in public he had to show his respect. He'd wring a real answer out of Tony later, certainly.

In the meantime, Tony waited for Steve to exit the stables. When he finally did, Tony stared at him pointedly, imploring him to look up again. He didn't. He walked straightaway to the sign-in table, where he checked in with all the others. He didn't seem to know anyone and didn't make much small talk, just ambled about and waited for the competition to begin.

Tony never took his eyes off him. Steve never looked anywhere even close to his direction.

"Daddy?"

Tony tore his eyes from Steve to answer his son.

"Yes, Peter?"

"When's it gonna start?" Peter fidgeted.

He was seven as of a month ago, and this would be his first time watching a knight's competition. He knew all of Midgard's knights, of course, they adored him and he them, but he'd been too young at the last one for Tony to bring him. Now, he sat in his chair at Tony's side, squirming eagerly.

"Soon." Tony pointed at the sign-in table. "See there? The last of the candidates are signing in. What happens then?"

"They…" Peter scrunched up his nose in thought, trying hard to remember. "Wave the flag?"

"That's right. They'll wave the flag at me and I'll—" Tony stopped himself; they were waving the flag as he spoke. "—I'll do this."

He stood, raised both hands; a hush fell over the crowd. He rattled off his usual speech, about the glory of battle and the honor of knighthood, about how pleased he was to see so many fine candidates this year. As always, he wished them no luck—a knight needs not luck, but skill. Steve still didn't look at him.

Once he'd finished, his current roster of knights stepped into the circle. Cheers erupted and they waved in greeting. Phil, Tony's head knight, made a similar speech, about how he would be watching each candidate carefully and that who would be chosen to join Midgard's knights would be determined by more than who won and who lost, but by what potential they displayed in the arena. However, he commented wryly, it certainly wouldn't hurt their chances to defeat a current knight.

The competition got underway and Peter nearly bounced out of his seat with excitement. As each fight became more intense, he leaned further and further out of his seat, eventually leaning so far he was halfway over the railing of their booth. Tony had to tug him back into his seat by the shirt four times.

"Behave yourself," Tony warned. Peter pouted.

"I remember someone else being rather excited at their first competition." Nick, his advisor, chuckled beside him. "Your father threatened to send you home if you didn't stay in your seat. The next time his back was turned, you leaned so far over the railing you fell right into the arena. Broke your arm, I believe."

"Don't encourage him." Tony sighed.

"I won't fall," Peter insisted.

"You almost certainly will," Tony disagreed, "You can see fine right where you are, Peter. You have the best seat in the arena, I don't know what you're fidgeting for—"

"I'm too _short," _Peter complained, "I can't see over the ledge."

"Come here." Tony gave in and gestured Peter over. Peter grinned widely in victory, clambering into Tony's lap. Tony sighed with fond exasperation, ruffling Peter's hair. "Better?"

"Yeah!" Peter still wiggled and leaned, but this way Tony was able to loop an arm around him to keep him secure.

Tony's current team was sweeping the competition; last year, they'd gone undefeated. They nearly did this year too, until Steve stepped forward. He was announced as Joseph Grant—as if Tony wouldn't know that was his father's name and his own middle name—and he dominated every challenger he faced. He took out three of Tony's knights in succession and without problem, though he was clearly both as honorable and merciful as Tony remembered: he didn't kill or severely injure a single opponent. Steve quickly became the odds-on favorite to win.

"Impressive," Nick murmured beside him.

"Very," Tony agreed, still watching Steve. Steve let Happy up, clapped a hand to his shoulder, then slung his sword back into its scabbard and walked off the field.

All without a single glance in Tony's direction.

"Maybe I ought to fight today after all." Tony turned to Nick. "The crowd likes this…Joseph, they like me, and we're both talented. A fight between us might really get them going, don't you think?"

"I'll have a messenger tell him your proposal." Nick nodded, gesturing for one of the messengers to come over. Tony winced at the word choice.

"It's not a proposal, it's a demand." Tony changed his mind. "I wish to fight him."

Nick studied him a moment, then shrugged and relayed it as such to the messenger.

"Why do you wanna fight him, Daddy?" Peter questioned.

"He seems strong," Tony told him, "Been a while since I've had a good fight."

And if he got to injure or severely maim the man who'd broken his heart, well.

That was just a bonus.

Another two rounds passed before the messenger returned, looking hesitant, a bit fidgety. Tony shot him a sharp look.

"And?"

"He says he will not fight his king, sir."

"Did you tell him it was not a request?"

"I did. He said that if his decision displeases you, he will leave, but he will not fight you."

"Tell him he has remarkably poor judgment," Tony snapped, "As if that's any surprise."

"Sir?" The messenger looked surprised. Tony sighed, waved a hand.

"Scratch it. Don't bother."

"Anthony?" Nick raised an eyebrow at him.

"Never mind it." Tony shook his head sharply.

"Is he a bad man, Daddy?" Peter quirked his head.

"No." Tony sighed, his heart twisting in his chest in ways it hadn't in years. Not since he was young and in love, so terribly young and so desperately in love. "No, Peter. He's not."

* * *

After the competition—which Steve won, handily—Tony was supposed to deliberate with his advisors about the selection of knights. He tried to delay it, but Nick gave him The Look so Tony forced himself to sit through it. The choices were obvious and Steve, of course, was at the top of the list regardless of what exactly that meant for Tony personally.

Did Steve want him to know he was back? He could. Announcing himself under a false name meant nothing; one had to have noble blood to become a knight and Steve was from a family of serfs and maids. He could be using the ruse only to become a knight and still fully intend to come to Tony later, explain himself. Tony had spent ten years imagining the wildest excuses for Steve leaving him that night, anything that wasn't a rejection, but even now he couldn't be sure. He hoped he'd stay strong, make Steve work for his forgiveness, but he knew that at the moment he was far more likely to break down sobbing, just grateful Steve was alive. He'd have to work on that before seeing him.

"Your highness?"

"Ah, yes." Tony lifted his head, cleared his thoughts. "What?"

"Does the final list please you?"

"Certainly. Shall we dismiss?"

"As you say."

Tony left abruptly. He was certain he heard one of the advisors mumbling to another, asking if Tony seemed distracted, but he put it out of his mind. He could do damage control later, if necessary. He had other priorities at the moment.

"Sir? Sir. Tony!"

Damn it.

Rhodey caught his shoulder, spun him back.

"Where're you rushing off to? You have to announce the knight's list."

"Phil can do that, he runs the guard—"

"And you run the knights." Rhodey frowned. "Are you alright? You look as if you've seen a ghost."

"It's nothing," Tony dismissed, "I don't feel quite well."

"Fair enough." Rhodey clapped a hand to his back, leading him in the direction of the courtyard where he'd be making the announcement. "Just finish this up, then you can get some rest. I still say you need a proper manservant; I'm just your knight, I can't always be running your schedule this way."

"If you don't like it, don't do it," Tony shot back, a touch waspishly.

"I jest." Rhodey raised his hands in a sign of innocence. "Well. About running your schedule."

"I'm not getting another manservant. Drop it."

He hadn't taken another manservant after Steve. It had been hard in the beginning, learning to do all the little things he'd always had a servant for as a child and Steve for later, but at first, he'd hoped. Steve had disappeared without a word to anyone, vanished without so much as a goodbye and Tony hadn't been able to make heads or tails of it. He'd worried desperately for Steve's safety, sent out search parties for miles and miles, organized his first expedition as prince in search of him. Eventually, he'd been forced by his father to call it off—too much manpower for a simple servant, he'd said, even one Tony considered a friend—so all Tony could do was hope. Hope that Steve would escape whoever had taken him, or change his mind if he'd left on his own, and return to him. Hope had blinded Tony for years and however irrational it was, Tony had felt that filling Steve's position would be too much like erasing him. Tony hadn't _wanted _the hole Steve had left in his life and heart to be filled. He'd wanted to mourn.

Still, Rhodey brought up the subject every couple months and Tony was usually able to deflect neatly, with grace. Today, however, he wasn't exactly feeling neat or graceful.

"Look, I know he was your friend, and he left rather abruptly—"

"He was bossy and stubborn and didn't know his place and one of him was more than enough trouble for one lifetime," Tony snapped, "I don't need another and I'm not getting another, Rhodey, so help me, drop the subject or I'll drop you from the knight's list."

It was an empty threat and they both knew it, but saying it still carried some gravity. Tony had never told Rhodey what Steve had been to him, though Rhodey probably suspected it. Considering what a mess he'd been for years after Steve's disappearance, Tony would be surprised if there was anyone in the kingdom who hadn't had their suspicions at one point or another.

"You're wound a little tight," Rhodey observed.

"Tired," Tony answered shortly, "And sick. After this, I wish to be left alone, understood?"

"Certainly."

Rhodey clearly didn't believe that he was tired or ill. Tony didn't much care. He exited the castle with Rhodey by his side and they waited at the top of the steps while the candidates and spectators gathered in the courtyard. As he waited, a plan formulated; actually, this could work. All the knights received living quarters at the castle. Usually Phil would show them about but maybe this year, Tony, benevolent and involved king that he was, could deign to do it himself. And if Steve was the last knight shown to his room, well. What were the odds?

Tony rattled off a short speech and an even shorter list of names; they had hundreds of soldiers in the guard, but the knights were exclusive. Their three new additions made for a total of nine: Phil, who doubled as leader of the guard, Rhodey, Happy, Clint, Natasha, Sam, James, Steve, and himself. The majority of competitors went home disappointed, but they were always welcome to join the guard, or try again the next year.

Tony watched for Steve in the crowd, and found him quickly; he was the one person not making eye contact with him. After the announcement, he said he would show the new knights to their living quarters and a pleasantly surprised murmur rippled through the crowd. Fine by him. The more goodwill the better. The knighting ritual would take place later that evening, before the feast. In the meantime, Tony called them forward. Sam and James took the steps two at a time, eager and in awe that Tony would take the time to do this for them. Steve followed behind at a normal pace, though he looked cautiously reluctant. He knew what Tony was playing at, then. Good.

"When's our first training day?" Sam questioned once they were inside.

"Sunrise tomorrow. You'll begin working with myself and the other knights immediately." Tony glanced over his shoulder at Steve, who _still _didn't meet his eyes. "James, 'Joseph'? Any questions?"

Steve shook his head mutely. James piped up.

"Oh, you can call me Bucky." James grinned, then, when Tony raised an eyebrow. "Uh, I mean, you can call me Bucky, sir? My lord? I've never spoken to a king before, I don't exactly know how to address you."

"Either is fine." Tony shook his head with a bit of a chuckle. "Within the castle walls, you're welcome to call me Tony. Outside, sir is sufficient. Where do you hail from, that you've never addressed a king?"

"Bandit kid, originally—" Bucky started, only for Sam to elbow him, hard. "I mean, uh, I was born into a family of noble lords who happened to—"

"I'd prefer it if you didn't lie to me, Bucky." Tony shot him a look over his shoulder. "I want talent from my knights, not bloodlines. Remind me later to tell you how Clint came to join us."

"Clint, the archer?" Sam seemed to recognize the name. Unsurprising; Clint, like many of Tony's knights, was revered in most circles.

"Yes. But once, he was Clint, the thief who stole from kings." Tony didn't need to look behind him to know the three were exchanging incredulous glances. "Outside these walls, tell the world what they need to hear. But knights are family—we won't lie to you, so don't lie to us. We live together, train together, fight together. If there's no trust between us, that falls apart."

"Us?" Sam seemed understandably surprised. Sam was truly from a noble family and Tony ran his knights differently than most. However, he also had the best knights in the land, so no one was exactly lining up calling for change.

"Us." Tony nodded. "I'm your king, but I'm also a knight. I fight every fight you do. Bit of a danger junkie, you'll learn. Sir Rhodes is the only reason I lived a day past eighteen."

Steve was silent behind him. Good. Let him feel guilty.

"Nice call, Joe." Bucky looped an arm around Steve.

"Call?" Tony raised an eyebrow.

"He's been set on being your knight since the day I met him," Bucky explained. Steve frowned but didn't contradict. "Now I can see why. Didn't think we'd ever actually make it though, you wouldn't believe how scrawny this guy used to be."

"Can't imagine," Tony remarked dryly.

"Oh yeah. Tiny as hell, not a lick of muscle on him, but he took on my whole camp like a champ. It's how we met, actually. He was wandering through the woods, lost as all hell—"

"I wasn't lost—" Steve's mouth tightened. It was the first thing Tony had heard him say yet. He wasn't aware how desperately he'd missed Steve's voice until he heard it. Nine years ago, the sound of it would've turned Tony on his heel to kiss Steve in front of everyone. As it was, he kept silent.

"He was _completely _lost," Bucky interrupted Steve and Tony hated him for it, "Came crashing through camp one day itching for a fight, damn near got himself killed. They would've had his hide if I hadn't swooped in."

"I'm glad he had someone to watch out for him." Bucky didn't notice the tight sincerity in his voice, but Steve did. He finally looked at Tony, startled; it was Tony who looked away.

"Yeah, we've had each other's backs a while now, Sam too. Good thing you picked all three of us or I would've had to hole up outside the castle in protest."

"Bucky," Sam hissed, "Shut up."

"What?"

"He's the king, you moron." Sam elbowed him.

"The king can hear you," Tony mused.

"I'm sorry, my liege." Sam nodded his head formally. "He didn't grow up within any formal kingdom. His concept of respect is misguided at best."

"Hey—"

"It's alright." Tony shot them both a smile. "I've never been what you'd call a particularly formal king. As I said, Sam, call me Tony. Now, down this way is the banquet hall. I hope you're hungry; you'll be meeting the others here later tonight, and they don't take kindly to picky eaters."

"You were right, Joseph, I love it here already," Bucky eyed the banquet hall hungrily.

"Oh? Joseph's told you about the castle?" Tony arched an eyebrow at Steve, his voice carefully neutral. Steve didn't meet his eyes.

"I had a cousin who worked here once. He liked it very much."

"Is that so." It wasn't a question. Bull-fucking-shit the man standing before him was some _cousin._

"Yes."

"And what was his name?"

"Steven Rogers." Steve looked anywhere but at Tony.

"You know he's been missing for near to a decade? That I've sent _dozens _of search parties looking for him?"

"Seems excessive." Steve's voice was small.

"Considering they didn't find him, I'd say it wasn't nearly enough."

"Is this Steve guy some kind of lord or something?" Bucky asked. "How come you didn't tell us, Joe?"

"He wasn't a lord." Tony shook his head. "He was a friend. And he disappeared without a word to anyone."

"That's not true—" Tony heard the fire in Steve's voice he'd been missing and he whirled around.

"Isn't it? He told no one, left no forwarding address, not so much as a note, so I don't know where you get the idea—"

"He left a note—"

"_No_, he didn't—"

"Of _course _he left a note!" Steve insisted fiercely.

"Then I don't know where the damn fool hid it because I searched both our chambers myself from top to bottom, had every squeaky floorboard turned up, every loose stone in the wall removed, and he left me nothing!"

"I—you didn't—" Steve looked horrified at that, distress written all over his face. "There was a note."

"Well, it wasn't found." Tony turned on his heel, led them down the hallway where they'd be staying without another word.

"Your cousin's kind of a total dick," Bucky muttered to Steve.

Tony felt bitterly, cruelly vindicated.

"One, two, three." Tony pointed out three doors at the end of the hallway. "Bucky, Sam, Joseph. The other doors lead to the other knight's chambers, though I doubt they're in at the moment. Get settled in, your knighting ceremony and following feast is at sundown."

Steve was first to disappear into his room. Bucky and Sam had a few more questions and Tony answered them impatiently, until they finished and retired to their rooms. He made straight for Steve's and…stopped. He held one hand aloft, ready to knock, but couldn't quite bring himself to. Ten years. Ten _fucking _years. Unexplained and without contact. What in the hell could he even say? He'd had so many questions over the years, but none of them seemed important anymore.

Who cared where he'd been or why he'd gone? He obviously hadn't been forced. He'd made the choice to leave Tony; what else mattered? Tony had lived and breathed denial for years, insisted to himself and everyone who would listen that Steve would be back. That they just had to wait. That he'd come back and explain himself and everything would be like it was supposed to be, Steve and Tony against the world again. He'd told himself that, the nights he'd dreamed of Steve. The nights he woke up with a phantom warmth to his back, when he could imagine for a split second nothing had ever changed. The nights he woke in a cold sweat, calling for someone that wouldn't ever come.

Then he'd taken in Peter. He wouldn't ever love someone like he'd loved Steve; he knew that. But a child…a child he could love. Did love. He adored Peter, always had. He'd found recovery and healing through his son and though he'd never stopped loving Steve, he'd accepted the loss of him.

Yet now he was back.

What a presumptuous bastard he was. Coming back into Tony's life after ten goddamn years, just like that. He hadn't come back when Tony had been forced into an engagement against his will, or when his fiancé had run off a few short weeks later—something Tony may have helped orchestrate, but that wasn't the point—or when his parents and then cousins died and he'd been forced to take the throne, still so young and so angry, still mourning so many people. Steve hadn't come back when Tony took in his cousin's child, became a father. Every time something had happened to Tony in the past ten years, he'd thought: maybe. Maybe this time. But Steve just kept him waiting.

Tony turned, walked away from the door without knocking.

It was Steve's turn to wait.

* * *

"With this sword." Tony tapped his sword to Bucky's shoulder. "I proclaim thee a knight of Midgard. Rise, Sir Barnes."

Bucky rose and bowed deeply as Tony had instructed him earlier, though he couldn't hide a wickedly proud grin. Tony stifled a chuckle, moving along the line to Sam. He was better than Clint, at least, who'd whooped loudly the moment he'd completed his bow. Sam accepted his knighthood with respect and grace, pride kept in his eyes instead of his features. Tony nodded to him, returning the respect. Steve was last.

Steve stepped forward, chin high. He couldn't avoid Tony's eyes now, didn't try, and they truly held each other's gaze for the first time in a decade. Steve didn't waver. Tony had always been able to read him; time hadn't changed that as much as he'd thought it might. He could see the guilt in Steve's eyes clear as day, as well as remorse for what Tony had gone through, but there was a certain sort of conviction there, too. Steve still felt he'd made the right decision, then. Damn him.

"Kneel," Tony commanded.

Steve knelt, never breaking his gaze. Tony was struck hard by the memory of the time they'd played at switching roles; Steve had commanded whatever he pleased of Tony_. _He could still feel Steve's hand in his hair as he gently pushed him down, still hear Steve's voice in his head like it was just yesterday. '_Kneel, darling.' 'Steve, it doesn't work if you call me darling—' 'Did I say you could speak?' 'Now that's more like it.'_

He could see the memory reflected in Steve's eyes.

"With this sword." Tony touched it to Steve's shoulder. The name felt false on his tongue, but he didn't flinch. "I proclaim thee a knight of Midgard. Rise, Sir Grant."

Steve stood. He was more solid now and good foot taller; Tony had to look up to him. He wondered what it'd be like to kiss him this way. He shook the thought away. The ceremony finished without problem, Steve's gaze having returned to the floor. Once the court left and it was just him and the knights, Jarvis, Peter's manservant, led Peter in.

"Daddy!" Peter called, taking off across the room.

"Master Peter, what did I say about—" Jarvis began with a wry smile, but Tony waved it off.

"Oh, let him." Peter tackled him and Tony scooped him up. "C'mere, you. Peter, meet our new knights. Knights, Peter."

"My name is Peter Stark and I am to be your prince. Kneel!" Peter commanded to the newcomers with a grin, lifting his little chin high and earning a hoot of laughter and a kneel from just about everyone in the room. Tony wasn't watching everyone, though. He was watching Steve, who played along by kneeling though Tony could read the utter heartache in his face.

Tony knew he'd once been as spirited and impertinent as Peter was now, that Steve was looking at Peter and seeing the young Stark heir he'd first met so long ago. Tony could tell immediately that Steve thought Peter was his blood and he could've corrected him right off the bat, but. He wasn't ready to correct Steve's misinterpretations of his life. He was _angry, _was bitter and hurting and itching for a fight. Steve had given up on him.

Let him think Tony had done the same.


	3. Chapter 3

"'kay, 'kay, but watch." Clint grinned and waved a hand over Peter's face, not quite drunk but making his way there. "I can do a trick. Just gimme a gold piece."

"Daddy said not to give you any more money," Peter told Clint reproachfully, earning a laugh from around the table.

Only the knights were permitted to attend the feast. It was a night for them all to integrate, to bond with their new companions a bit before training tomorrow morning. Peter wasn't a knight, of course, but Tony didn't go anywhere without him except battle and meetings. The knights adored him, anyway.

"Indeed, a good policy for us all." Phil snorted.

"Just one piece, Peter, you're _loaded," _Clint insisted.

"Don't listen to the scoundrel, Pete." Tony leaned across his armrest to stage whisper to a giggling Peter, "He'd rob us blind if we let him."

"You never did tell us how Clint went from thief to knight," Sam pointed out.

"Oh, you don't wanna hear _that _story," Clint protested. Sam and the others took to chanting 'story!' until Clint relented, "Fine, fine. It was a nice, sunny day, in the nice, sunny kingdom of Richgard—"

"Midgard, he means," Tony clarified in amusement.

"Schmwhatevergard," Clint slurred a bit, "Anyway. Sunny day. Rich city. Big score. I was travelling with this circus at the time—we'd get in good with the royals, skim off the treasury, disappear into the night—"

"What did you do for a circus?" Bucky eyed him.

"I shot apples off people's heads." Clint grinned. "Now, usually, I'd do a couple servants, maybe a brave as hell knight or two, then sneak off. No big, right? I offer to the kings too, but damn, never had one say yes before that son of bitch right there."

"Son of a queen, you watch your tongue." Tony grinned right back. Clint just laughed.

"Right, so he walks up to me before I even offer, tells me to give it a go on him. I ask if he's got a death wish, he just winks and says near-death experiences are all he's got to keep him warm at night." Tony pointedly didn't look at Steve, but he could feel the heat of his gaze regardless_. _"I figure hey, what the hell? It's not like I'm gonna miss. I shoot and damn, I tell you, we've got a hell of a king. Courageous bastard didn't even flinch."

Everyone took the story at face value. Tony had always been known for his thrill-seeking streak, but most knights had one and it wasn't as if he'd ever been _actively _trying to get himself killed. Comments like that were taken as an easy, light-hearted joke; ten years apart or not, Steve knew him better than that. He knew that comments like that, uttered blithely with a wink and a smile, were about as close to honest as Tony got. The others laughed at Clint's story and raised their goblets in a toast to their king's bravery, but Tony could feel Steve's knowing eyes on him. He continued the story instead.

"He went after the treasury once he thought I was too drunk to notice." Tony snorted. "But there's a reason I was able to get that drunk."

"I laid one finger on the door, and this one—" Clint gestured a thumb at Phil. "—damn near took my head off."

"Keep in mind," Tony told Sam and the others hearing the story for the first time, "Phil wasn't head of the guard then, but damn if he hasn't always been the best hand-to-hand guy I've got. Usually takes him maybe three moves, and his opponent's unconscious."

"I," Clint declared proudly, "Took nineteen."

"Sixteen." Phil snorted.

"Nineteen."

"Sixteen."

"Boys." Natasha gave an exasperated sigh.

"Point being, Clint almost wiped the floor with my best man—" Tony started. Phil frowned.

"Wiped the floor seems like an exaggeration—"

"So of course I had to look into him." Tony shrugged. "He piqued my interest. I put him up for the night while I had him looked into—"

"You invited a known thief who nearly shot you in the head into your home because he _piqued your interest?" _Steve demanded incredulously, and oh, were they talking now?

"Panned out, didn't it?" Tony remarked coolly.

"That 'known thief' is sitting right here, by the way." Clint waved a hand at Steve with a smirk. "Don't go getting too cocky there, rookie. Even a thief knows the value of honor; I serve my king with pride."

"A thief with honor? Now I've seen it all." Steve raised an eyebrow in challenge. Tony narrowed his eyes at Steve. What was he challenging Clint for? Steve wasn't the type to start a fight without reason.

"If it's a fight you're looking for, look no further." Clint flashed Steve a grin, all teeth. "First thing tomorrow I'll show you the kind of knight our king wants at his back."

"And I'll show you the kind he ought to have," Steve replied with a smirk, his gaze flickering to Tony briefly. So that's what this was, then. Some kind of pissing contest to prove his worth. Ten years and Steve hadn't changed in the slightest. Always trying to prove himself, as if he didn't know all Tony had ever wanted was his presence. "Will you watch?"

Steve's tone was carefully clear of any telling emotion, but Tony didn't need that to read him. Steve's hope was all in his eyes.

"I attend all training sessions," Tony answered dismissively. He leaned over to help Peter cut the last bit of his steak, focusing his attention there instead of on Steve. "I lead the knights. If they meet, so do I."

"I can _do_ it," Peter insisted to him, pushing Tony's hand away.

"Sure you can. I can simply do it faster," he teased.

"Nu-uh!" Peter cut his bites up a little quicker.

Under the table, Natasha kicked him. Tony shot her a disgruntled look. She narrowed her eyes at him, glancing pointedly over at Steve, who had returned to his food in silence, then back at Tony, then raising an eyebrow. It was a clear demand in Natasha-ese for answers. Tony shook his head once, subtly. Natasha snorted not-so-subtly, but the table had already moved past Steve's antagonism of Clint and on to the validity of Clint's chosen weapon as a blunt instrument in close-combat.

"You need to apply more force, certainly," Phil commented, "But it's not impractical."

"But you can't exactly kill anyone with it, no matter how much force you apply," Sam disagreed.

"Which makes me all the better in non-lethal matches," Clint argued, "I'm more accustomed to methods that don't jump straight to slicing someone's head off."

"Hardly useful in a war." Rhodey snorted.

"But we're not at war," Natasha reminded him, "Haven't been in a long time."

"Doesn't mean we shouldn't be prepared." Rhodey frowned at the casual way she said it.

"It's impractical to assume such peace should last, yes, but that doesn't negate the usefulness of other tactics," Tony reminded him, "So long as Clint maintains his sword training on the occasions he should need to use one, as he has, I see no reason he ought to be forced into carrying around a sword he does not prefer to use."

"And if an intruder with intent on your life broke past the other defenses and Sir Barton were left to fend him off with only a bow and the intruder had a sword, what then?" Steve contributed, directing the question at Tony.

"If I didn't know better, Sir Grant, I'd think you had designs on my life the way you talk." Tony eyed him. Clint was glaring daggers at Steve; Tony appeased him. "Clint could handle himself against the most proficient swordsman with only a bow, it is a feat I have seen myself and I entrust my life to him secure in that knowledge. But it seems you're quite set on worst case scenarios, aren't you?"

"I feel better when I'm prepared for them, yes," Steve answered stiffly.

"Then rest assured, for I can defend myself." Tony smiled but it rang false, all sharp edges and challenge. "Or perhaps you haven't heard of the events of my eighteenth birthday."

"I know of them." Steve's voice was subdued, the anger in his eyes only for Tony to see.

"Then you know that though I trust my knights implicitly, I am my own final line of defense and you need not concern yourself with my safety."

"I know that you were injured gravely."

"Yet I prevailed."

"You would've prevailed uninjured if you'd had someone capable guarding you."

"You dare imply that I'm incapable of defending our King?" Clint demanded with a snarl, "Know your place, rookie, or I am more than happy to show it to you—"

"He meant my former guard." Tony raised a hand to Clint, silencing him, though his sight never left Steve as he growled out a response, "Who was certainly capable enough to buy me the time to get to my sword—"

"Who was taken out in a flat second—"

"His presence was the _single thing_ that saved my life that night, don't you _dare _speak ill of him to my face—"

"Sir Grant." Rhodey's voice, sharp and forceful, cut through their building argument. "The guard you speak of was a personal friend of both the King and myself, and a hero for his actions at that. It would be best if you did not speak of him at all, but if you must, you will speak with respect. Is that understood?"

Steve looked slightly shocked, but answered compliantly after only a moment, "Indeed, Sir Rhodes."

"If you doubt my capabilities," Tony began mildly, because he never did know when to leave well enough alone, "I would be more than happy to provide you with a demonstration."

"I've no desire to fight you," Steve told him, weariness evident in his voice.

"Oh, but I quite wish to fight you." Tony leaned forward. "Perhaps tomorrow, after your match with Sir Barton."

"I'd rather not."

"You mistake my demand for a question."

"I will not hold a sword against you," Steve told him stubbornly, "You are my King."

"Then a spar is of no concern, for I'll disarm you long before you have the chance to."

"I will leave the kingdom before I fight you, my liege." Steve met Tony's gaze without hesitance.

"I suppose you would." Tony snorted, an ugly, bitter sound. "It's what your 'family' does best, isn't it? Run away?"

"He left for good cause," Steve grit out.

"Pray tell, Sir _Grant_, I've been waiting quite a while to hear this particular excuse."

"It's no _excuse_, which you would know had you read his note."

"He didn't leave any damn note," Tony hissed.

"He did,"Steve insisted just as fiercely, "He told me quite specifically that he did, in his beloved's shirt."

"Funny, I wasn't aware he _had _a beloved," Tony taunted, "Most people don't abandon theirs so easily."

Steve grit his teeth. His nostrils flared, a sure sign he was trying to tamp down his anger and beginning to fail. He was more of a hothead than people suspected; it had gotten him in trouble more than once, though Tony couldn't ever recall having it directed at him before, not genuinely. But then, he'd never denied Steve to his face before either. It was a cruel taunt and the hurt in Steve's eyes was painful to see no matter how much Tony had been certain he'd wanted to cause it.

"It was _not_ easy." Steve's hands clenched to fists. He moved them under the table. "It was the single hardest thing he ever had to do."

"Ever _chose _to do," Tony spat back.

"Perceive it as you like," Steve grit out, "He did what needed to be done."

"He was a fucking coward." Tony sneered. "He did what he wanted."

"How could you _ever _think that was what he wanted?" Steve demanded, "He was miserable, was completely, _utterly _miserable—he spent every moment of it wishing for a future he could never have, dreaming of a past he could never return to, and he _tortured _himself over it. He felt like the lowest scum to ever scrape across the earth, but he kept going because it meant the person he loved most in the world would be safe and that would _always _be more important than _anything_ else."

The knights, who had previously been uncomfortably doing their best ignore the argument breaking out, were now unashamedly staring at them. Though Tony craved nothing more to drag Steve away, speak in private and demand his answers, he knew exactly how it would look. How it already looked.

"I may be your fellow knight, _Grant," _Tony hissed, drawing himself up with all the control and command he was known for, "But I am also your King and I would advise you not to forget who it is you speak to."

There was a part of him that wanted Steve to ignore the warning and barrel forward, damn the consequences. Once, far too long ago, he might have. Instead, he simply drew in a deep breath before bowing his head low.

"Apologies, my liege." Tony had never hated the title more than on Steve's lips at that very moment. "My cousin is as sore a spot for me as he is for you, it seems. Perhaps the past is simply best left there."

"For the moment." Tony narrowed his eyes. If Steve thought they were done discussing this, he was out of his mind.

"Cousin? That's what this is?" Happy frowned, finally finding a place to interject. "Sir Grant, you're related to Steve?"

"Steve Rogers?" Peter, who'd been slouched next to Tony in a show of bored disinterest for the argument, perked up. He leaned across the table eagerly. "You know him?"

"Peter—" Tony started.

"How do you know of him?" Steve cut him off to ask Peter incredulously.

"Daddy talks about him." Peter dismissed Steve's question as if it were obvious, which to him it likely was. Tony had told Peter stories of Steve since he was just a baby. Steve, however, looked some mix of stunned and horrified. "Can you find him?"

"He talks about him?" Steve only repeated.

"You're still telling Peter those stories?" Rhodey shot Tony a disapproving look, but before Tony could say anything Steve jumped on that too.

"What stories?"

"Don't you know?" Peter quirked his head. "Steve's the hero that saved Daddy."

"I really don't think the Steve conversation is one we should be having at the table—" Phil began.

"I agree completely." Tony concluded, not eager for Peter to tell Steve any more than he already had. "Peter, finish your dinner."

It was sort of—alright, entirely—Tony's fault. When Tony had first taken Peter into his care, he'd only been twenty-two. The loss of Steve had still stung and the hope for his return hadn't yet died, so in lieu of bedtime stories Tony had told his new son tales of Steve, The Lost Hero. He'd put a few fantastical spins on the adventures he and Steve had gone on over the years, all true though somewhat exaggerated for a child's ears, and relayed them to Peter. The stories culminated in how Steve had saved Tony's life one last time only to be stolen away in the night by dark magic. Tony had added the addendum that it was "fated" for the Lost Hero to return when the kingdom needed him most; it was a child's story, after all, and if Tony had perhaps needed the hope as well, Peter was none the wiser.

Steve was a fairytale character to Peter. He'd grown up listening to such stories in rapture, envisioning Steve as a hero to be admired, someone to be like when he grew up. Tony liked that. Everyone else had always been so eager to forget about Steve and Tony could hardly say much about him to an adult without betraying the true nature of their relationship. With Peter, he could hold on to those memories. He liked that Peter worshipped Steve; Tony certainly always had.

The flighty bastard himself, however, didn't need to know that.

"But Daddy, he knows Steve!" Peter barreled onward excitedly anyway, his attention on Steve once again. "He's your cousin, right? D'you talk to him? Could you tell him to come home? You should tell him I wanna meet him, I bet he'd at least come visit then, Daddy says he'd really like me if he—"

"That's enough about Steve, Peter." Tony placed a firm hand on Peter's shoulder, forced him to sit back in his seat. "Leave Sir Grant be, he won't help you."

"I can't," Steve corrected and it was a lie, it was _such _a lie, but one thing melted a hint of the anger Tony felt towards him: he wasn't directing the lie at Tony, but at Peter. He was only trying to cheer up Peter, who had slumped in his chair again with a look of moody rebellion. "I'd love to help you, Peter, but I don't know where he is or how to reach him."

"Oh," Peter mumbled, more dejected now than sullen.

"I think you're finished eating now, aren't you?" Tony decided, taking a look at Peter's mostly empty plate. "It's getting late, it's about time a certain someone went to bed."

"But Da-ad—" Peter began to complain. He looked quite startled when it turned into a yawn. The knights laughed.

"Sounds like bedtime to me." Tony chuckled, rising from his seat and holding out a hand to Peter. "Come on."

"Can you at least tell me a Steve story?" Peter asked plaintively as he wriggled out of his chair, already rubbing at his eyes.

"I—well." Tony pointedly didn't turn back to look at Steve. "Alright."

"The one where he caught the bandits in the trap?"

"If you'd like."

* * *

"Apologies for that, Joseph, Steve is a bit of a…touchy subject." Rhodey leaned forward, putting his head in his hands with a weary, contemplative sigh. "Jesus, I can't believe he's still telling those damn stories. I thought he…damn it all."

Steve's mind was still reeling.

No. That wasn't what was supposed to—_no. _Being in Midgard again was painful enough. Seeing Tony again after so long…God Almighty, Tony. He looked so much wearier than when Steve had seen him last, old beyond even his near twenty-eight years. Steve was unsurprised to find he'd grown ever more handsome in that time, the innocence and youth of his features giving way to experience and wisdom. He was as strong-willed as ever, though Tony the man carried his rage with far more fearsome command than Tony the boy.

Even as Tony had spat poison at him, Steve had ached to reach out to him. It was nothing new, but the immensity of the desire had hit Steve low and hard regardless; he'd hoped time might have cooled his impulsivity regarding Tony, but it'd been a naïve hope. He was as drawn to Tony as when he'd left, perhaps more so. Missing him so desperately and for so long only to have him here again and close enough to touch was the most exquisite torture, but Steve had endured it for a reason.

Tony was supposed to have moved on. He was supposed to have made a family and rarely think of Steve again. It was why he'd waited so long to return, so they could start over as friends. He knew how laughably, naively idealistic that sounded, but they'd been friends before anything else and he'd been so, so certain they could return to that. Even when they'd been together, the romance had only been another facet of an existing relationship; he'd miss that aspect like it was a damn body part, of course he would, but it wasn't what he _needed_. He needed Tony. Not kissing Tony, not sex with Tony—as blissfully enjoyable as it all had been—just Tony. He'd never meant for Tony to hold on this long.

God. Tony told his son_ stories_ of Steve. Tony had convinced his son—the son he'd had with the woman he'd married, the Queen for God's sake—that Steve was some sort of hero. This was all wrong. This was all so horribly, horribly wrong. Steve had wanted to be remembered, yes, but as a vague, fond memory overshadowed by Tony's bright and happy future with his wife, his child, his kingdom. He'd left precisely so that he _wouldn't _hold Tony back, so that Tony might have the life he deserved, a life free of Steve's complications.

Where had he gone wrong?

"We don't usually discuss dead men at the table." Clint shot Steve a look that implied he clearly found this all to be Steve's fault. It was, of course, but not for the reasons Clint probably thought.

"Don't let him catch you saying that," Phil warned Clint sharply, glancing at the door.

"I thought this Steve was alive?" Sam shot a small glance Steve's way. Thankfully nobody seemed to catch it, though Steve wished he'd be more careful.

"Opinions vary," Happy told him before turning to Steve, "Regardless, if you do have some way of contacting your cousin? Keep it to yourself."

"Definitely. He's particularly touchy today, probably because you bear some passing familial resemblance to Steve, but most days…" Rhodey sighed again. "He's getting better. It doesn't look like it, I know, but he is."

"This all happened a decade ago," Steve tried to insist, because Tony should be _long _past this, should've forgotten all about Steve ages ago. He was married, for God's sake, what could the Queen think of Tony telling Peter stories of _him? _"How could he even still remember some servant?"

There was a moment of silence, before Clint leaned forward and narrowed his eyes at Steve curiously. "It's as if you _want _him to execute you."

"Clint." Phil shot him a reprimanding glare before assuring Steve, "He wouldn't execute you. Our King is not a man to leap to execution out of anger, or spite, though Clint is right that you're certainly trying your hardest."

"What did I—?"

"Don't call Steve 'some servant'." Happy made an impatient face at him. It was a familiar look, though Steve couldn't recall it ever being directed at him before. It'd always been Tony who tried Happy's patience to the point of fond exasperation. There was no fondness in Happy's expression now, however; clearly Tony was the only one who'd recognized him. Whether or not he would tell Happy and Rhodey, only time would tell. "If you haven't yet realized, Steve still bears a fair amount of importance to the King."

"And that is not something that leaves this room." Rhodey narrowed his eyes at Bucky, Sam, and Steve each in turn. "We pick up on information like that because we are close enough to the King that he does not guard his every thought from us. He does this because he trusts us; you are knights now and you are above such petty things as gossip. If I catch any one of you discussing this, or any other such tender matters with men who are not your brother knights, the punishment will not be merciful."

"Yessir," they responded as one.

"So long as we're clear." Rhodey nodded, satisfied. "In the future, Joseph, try to avoid the subject of your cousin. It's false hope and it's cruel."

"Just who _is _Steve to the king?" Bucky had a look of innocent confusion on his face, though it would only ring false to Steve. He shot a subtle glare at the side of Bucky's head. Bucky avoided eye contact with him.

He knew full well who Steve was, just like he knew full well who Steve was to Tony. It'd taken some time to trust him, but Bucky had been by Steve's side since very early on in his travels and they'd saved each other's lives a dozen times over. Steve trusted him implicitly and had told him both his real name and why he was so intent on his training. Sam had joined them a few years later. He was the one who'd suggested Steve become a knight, since some Kings had knights as their personal guardians, and later helped Steve and Bucky to sort of the details of the process as well as fake their royal seals.

"Steve Rogers was a friend of ours," Happy told them, "Well, Rhodey and I. We all grew up in the castle together, but it was the King he was close to. Became his personal manservant when they were eleven or twelve."

"He left the castle on Tony's eighteenth birthday without telling a soul, immediately after an attempt was made on Tony's life. There've always been rumors about how connected those two events are, if Steve might have tipped the attacker off or something—" It burned Steve to stay silent. Rhodey continued. "—but Tony won't hear of it. I believe him. Many don't. Regardless, Tony never got over the breach of trust."

"What breach?" Steve couldn't help asking. "He could never believe Steve really assisted with an assassination attempt—"

"Of course not. But Steve and the King…" Rhodey fell silent a moment. "They were hard to describe. Hard to separate, too. They knew each other all their lives; you never saw one without the other. They were closer than any two people I've ever seen, yet Steve left him without a word. It broke him in ways I'm not sure are even reparable."

Bucky was giving him The Look. He'd always railed for Steve to go back, always insisted that Steve was being dumb and that Tony would want him around whether or not Steve could defend him. Steve knew that, of course, he'd never doubted that Tony loved him; it was that love that had been precisely the problem. Tony had always been so ready to disregard everything for Steve. He'd been willing to abandon his responsibilities for it, his kingdom and his future, and for what? Some scrawny orphan who couldn't fight off so much as a stray cat? Tony deserved better than that. He always had. Steve couldn't be what Tony had wanted him to be, but he could at least protect him now and that was far more important.

"He tried to describe it to me, once," Happy mused with a quiet, contemplative swig of his drink, "Damn saddest thing I've ever heard. Said it was like all your life, you were walking on water. You never knew you could do it because it depended on your belief that it wasn't water beneath you but solid earth. Then one day, out of the blue, someone tells you there's no earth beneath you. You don't believe them at first, because you know that of course there is. How could the very earth beneath you be gone without you noticing, when you'd been walking on it your whole life? But when it turns out they're right, the faith that was keeping you above water drowns you instead."

Silence echoed around the table.

Steve felt sick with a guilt that dug into his very bones.

"Christ." Bucky gaped. He and Sam both seemed to be struggling not to stare at Steve. It was possible he'd perhaps downplayed the intensity of his and Tony's relationship to them.

"Enough of this Steve talk," Clint declared, raising his mug, "This is supposed to be a feast, not a funeral service."

"Indeed!" Happy raised his as well, shaking his head as if to shrug off the gloom. "A toast to our new knights, yes?"

"A toast!"

The others joined in and before long the subject of Steve and Tony was long forgotten by all but Steve himself. He couldn't wrap his mind around it. How could this still be such a sore subject for Tony that his knights had noticed? It had been ten years. Tony had married, produced a child. What was he even still _thinking _of Steve for?

The question plagued Steve, but he didn't get a chance to ask Tony himself. Tony returned to the feast after some time but was uncharacteristically quiet. Long after the feast ended, Steve couldn't help expecting Tony to come to his chambers, just as he'd been unable to help expecting Tony to come by earlier. Just like earlier, Tony never came.

Steve figured he deserved that.

He tried to settle into bed. He attempted to put aside such thoughts and get some rest—Sir Barton in particular would not go easy on him tomorrow, Steve knew—but the look in Tony's eyes when he'd first seen Steve that morning still haunted him. The recognition, the fear, the hope…time had done plenty, but it hadn't done a thing to dampen Steve's ability to understand Tony. He'd been reading the looks in Tony's eyes since he was a child; he saw worlds in those eyes, he always had. He knew Tony better than Tony knew himself and he'd known from the very moment he'd laid eyes on Tony that Tony hadn't forgotten him for a second. It hurt to think about, but as Steve tried desperately to fall asleep he found he could think of nothing else.

Come morning, Steve was just as restless. Not for his match with Sir Barton—he'd spent his decade quite purposefully and if there was one thing he could be certain in it was his skill with a sword—but for the one Tony might try and start afterward. Tony was itching for a fight. Steve couldn't claim he didn't understand, but that didn't mean he would ever dare hold to a sword against the man he loved.

"Well, come on then." Clint twirled his bow. "Have at it."

"Where's your sword?" Steve frowned.

"I don't need it."

"I'm trying to be fair." Steve sighed.

"And I'm trying to kick your ass," Clint informed him disdainfully, "Who says I need a sword for that?"

"Look at you, Joe." Bucky grinned, clapping him on the shoulder as he passed. "You just make friends everywhere you go, don't you?"

"I'm not here to make friends," Steve reminded Bucky quietly, who sighed.

"There's that work ethic again," Bucky muttered good-naturedly, not quite loud enough for the others to hear, "Come on, we made the knights. Cut yourself a little slack."

Steve shook his head. Bucky rolled his eyes, but moved along. Despite what Bucky and Sam might have to say about it, Steve still had a lot left to prove. The training had only been the first step; the second part, the _important _part, was proving to Tony that it had been worth it. That leaving had made him strong enough to be worthy of standing at Tony's side again, of being as much Tony's equal as he could ever be.

"If both knights are ready?" Tony drawled, his gaze lingering no more on Steve any more than it did on Clint.

"Bring it, rookie." Clint smirked at him.

"If you say so." Steve shot him one in return.

Clint had no idea what he was getting himself into. This was Steve's moment to prove to Tony that their time apart had been well spent; this was how he would prove he had become the knight Tony could trust at his side, the knight Tony _wanted _at his side.

Clint never stood a chance.

Steve took him down cleanly and efficiently, cutting the man no breaks for pride. He got the sense Clint wouldn't have wanted him to anyway. Once he'd knocked Clint's bow from his hand and pressed his blade against Clint's throat—a show of dominance, not enough to even touch the skin—he looked to Tony for approval. Tony raised a hand lazily, calling the match but not holding Steve's gaze.

The rest of the training and later days passed much the same. Tony barely glanced his way, only speaking to him if spoken to first and only making enough eye contact to seem politely neutral. He was perfectly cordial, a cold sort of brusque that might befit another king but had never quite rung true for Tony. He was informal, was warm and welcoming and open with everyone; within the space of a week, Bucky and Sam had earned his informal good nature. Steve had not. That was fair, he knew. They would have to sit down and talk and work things out between them before Steve could begin to earn Tony's forgiveness, but Tony wouldn't let him. Steve tried to get him alone countless times, tried to catch him after training sessions, between meetings, after meals, but Tony always skittered just out of reach before Steve could lay a hand on him, dashing away to whatever appointment he had next.

Worse still, everyone knew something was off. In another castle that sort of behavior to subordinates might go unnoticed, but Tony wasn't that kind of King. He was warm with his knights, jocular and friendly like any one of them. It was only Steve he was curt with, only Steve he snapped at, only Steve he got into a shouting match with every other hour. Tony certainly wasn't subtle with his rage, but 'being related to Steve' seemed to be enough of a reason that for the moment no one was asking any further questions. Steve had known Tony wouldn't be _pleased _with him for leaving, but he'd thought time would dull it enough that after a few sharp words and some lengthy discussion they could be friends again, that Tony would let him back into his life.

He'd been wrong.

He deserved that though, he supposed. If Tony had never received his letter…he tried to imagine how he'd have felt if Tony had left him in the middle of the night without so much as a word, but couldn't. It hurt too much. He'd spend the rest of his life trying to make that up to Tony. He'd made the right decision in leaving, but as hard as it would have been he should have spoken to Tony. He'd been too afraid, known all too well that Tony would have convinced him to stay. He'd broken Tony's heart for it though and there was no excuse for that.

Days turned into a week and still Steve couldn't get Tony alone. Having the man so close and not being able to even talk with him—truly _talk _with him—ached worse than being apart completely. At least then he could imagine Tony was happy. That was the worst part of it all, really: Tony wasn't happy. Steve had left not just so he could get stronger, not just so Tony could have a family, but so that Tony could find happiness in doing so. Steve could have stayed. He could have trained in the kingdom, broken things off with Tony but stayed his friend and convinced Tony to marry—Steve doubted how successful he would have been in 'breaking things off' considering his horrible weakness for Tony's pleases, but he could have, theoretically—but Tony wouldn't have committed to it. He'd have only been trying to appease Steve and he wouldn't have found any sort of happiness that way.

But Steve _had _left. So why wasn't Tony happy? He had his wife and child, his knights, his kingdom. By all accounts, he should be happy. Was his wife ill? Steve hadn't seen her once in his entire first week at the castle. Steve would admit he was not particularly looking forward to meeting the woman who could call Tony her own and certainly didn't intend to go out of his way to meet her, but he did wonder where exactly she'd disappeared to. He hadn't seen her at ceremonies or training exercises, or even playing with Peter in the courtyard where he most often found Tony.

He'd tried at first to approach Tony there, hoping the clear lack of duties to attend to would leave Tony without an excuse to leave. Tony had simply taken Peter by the hand and flat out left with a simple, tense, _another time, Sir Grant, _tossed over his shoulder. Steve soon stopped approaching him there at least, because it meant that he could settle in on the balcony above the courtyard in his free time with pencil and paper in hand. He was unsure if Tony knew he was there or not, but he elected not to draw attention to himself. There was a melancholy sort of peacefulness to those afternoons, observing the way Tony interacted with his son.

He was most reminiscent of the boy Steve had known when he was with Peter. He smiled and laughed more, the tension he seemed to carry with him near constantly finally easing. He was relaxed with the knights but he was playful with Peter, spirited and loose in a way he wasn't with anyone else. Tony was still young, soon to be just twenty-eight, but that youth was usually clouded by the heavy responsibility he surely shouldered. With Peter, his remaining vivacity showed through in a way Steve would never be able to adequately put to paper. He tried his best.

Peter was often in the courtyard without Tony as well, practicing his swordsmanship with one of the knights or playing games with his friends. Steve liked watching Peter. He looked a little like Tony, though it was less in his actual features and more in his expressions, his behavior. He certainly had the same spirited, mischievous nature. He was quieter about it than Tony had been; Tony had been a loudmouthed little brat, spoiled from the first and not at all shy about letting people know it. Peter was more cautious, more likely to observe a situation and get his footing before speaking up. Tony had always been one to leap first and figure out how to stick his landing later.

If Tony ever caught him watching Peter he didn't mention it, but then, Tony didn't mention anything to him anymore.


	4. Chapter 4

Peter was about to knock Harry on his butt when he realized he was being watched.

Harry used the distraction to block Peter's winning shot, parry and knock Peter's wooden sword from his hand. Shoot. Peter turned, expecting his watcher to be Daddy, who would help him take Harry on, but it wasn't. It was the blonde man Daddy yelled at a lot, Steve's cousin. The moment Peter looked at him, he started walking again, looking away from Peter and disappearing off down the hall. Peter shrugged, turned back to Harry.

"Two outta three?"

That was that, the first time. Peter forgot all about it, until it happened again. And again. And _again. _Soon enough, any time Peter was in the courtyard, he could expect Sir Grant to be watching him like a hawk. He had a notepad with him almost always; Peter wondered what he needed it for. Was he writing about Peter? He didn't know for certain and it made him nervous, which was strange. He liked the knights. Daddy had always told him that if he ever needed anything, the knights' first duty was to protect Peter at all costs, so he should never be afraid to go to them for help.

This one was different, though. Daddy liked the other knights, got along with them. He never shouted with them like he and Sir Grant shouted with each other, or stare at them all the time, or make sad faces when Sir Grant wasn't looking. Sir Grant did it too, though Peter couldn't tell for sure if Daddy knew or not. Either way, he didn't like it one bit; Daddy was always in a mood after seeing Sir Grant, mad and sad and quiet all at once, nearly all the time now.

So he asked about it.

"How about red today?" Daddy handed him a shirt and Peter took it, started to tug it on. Daddy tried to help him.

"No! I can do it."

"If you say so." Daddy chuckled.

"Daddy?" Peter questioned as he wiggled into the shirt, "How come you'n Sir Grant keep yelling at each other?"

Daddy seemed surprised by the question. He leaned back against Peter's bed, taking a moment to think it over before saying, "We knew the same person, once."

"Steve?"

"Yes. We disagree very strongly about a decision Steve made."

"What decision?"

"Nothing you should worry about." Daddy smiled at him, but it was sad. "It was a long time ago."

"But he's not…" Peter fidgeted. "He's not bad though, right?"

"Who?" Daddy looked startled. "Sir Grant? He's many things, but never that. What would make you think something like that?"

"He's always watchin' me all…weird," Peter admitted, "And he writes stuff down. Is he writing about me?"

Daddy looked very sad at that so Peter moved over to the bed to give Daddy the biggest, tightest hug he could. He didn't like it when Daddy looked like that. Daddy squeezed him tight a moment too, then let go and crouched down to Peter's level.

"He's drawing you," Daddy told him with another sad smile, "It means he's fond of you. Will you promise me something, Peter?"

Peter nodded seriously.

"Be nice to him." Daddy brushed his hair back with one hand before pressing a kiss to his forehead. "He's made some very poor decisions, and he doesn't always know how to say the things he wants to, but he's a good man. The very best."

"Okay," Peter decided, "I'll be real nice to him. I promise."

"Thank you." Daddy smiled one last of his sad smiles, the ones Peter hated, before standing up again and going to Peter's dresser to pick out the rest of his clothes for the day.

The next time Peter caught Sir Grant watching him, he ditched his wooden play-sword and marched right up to him. Sir Grant hastily shut his notepad as Peter approached.

"Hello." Peter stuck out a hand boldly. "My name is Peter Stark. I'm your prince."

"That you are." Sir Grant shook his hand with a bit of smile. "Though I believe we've met."

"Yeah, but you don't talk to me, you just watch. You oughta talk to me. I'm great."

That startled a laugh out of the knight. "You've certainly got your father's famous modesty."

"You and I are gonna be friends," Peter told him with certainty.

"His subtlety too, it seems." Sir Grant chuckled. "But I'd like that very much, Peter."

"Great!" Peter hopped up on the bench with him. "Daddy says you've been drawing me, can I see?"

"He…?" Sir Grant paled a bit, his lips going thin, but he eventually nodded. "If you want."

He opened the notebook again and started to flip to the back of it, but Peter stopped him.

"Hey, is that Daddy?" Peter, too excited to remember his manners, grabbed the book.

"No, that's—it was just—"

"Wow." Peter boggled at it. "You're _amazing."_

The picture looked just like his Daddy. He was in his knight's armor, shield high and sword at the ready, though his helmet was off. Every detail of his face looked exactly the same, except—

"He's got a scar right here though." Peter pointed to just under Daddy's jaw. "He got it fighting a griffin that came through the town square. He hopped right up on it's back and wrestled it down, but they've got real sharp claws and he got nicked."

"I'll be sure and remember that." Sir Grant leaned over him a little to mark the place where Peter was pointing with his pencil. He made a little 'x' and wrote the words 'griffin attack; scar?'. "Your father's a very brave man."

"Yeah." Peter flipped through the book some more. "Didja know he went after a hydra once? Wasn't even for our kingdom, he just wanted to see if he could."

"Was he alright?"

"Coupl'a broken bones, I think." Peter wasn't really paying attention to answering anymore, far more focused on finding a picture of himself. Most of the pictures just seemed to be Daddy a bunch of different ways. "And Sir Rhodey says he almost got drowned 'cause he ran into a siren on his way back."

"He 'ran into' a siren this far inland?"

"Sir Rhodey says b'fore I came along, Daddy was always lookin' for trouble, just like me." Peter found a picture of himself and Harry. "Hey, there's me!"

"When was all this?"

"I dunno, a week ago?" Peter frowned up at him. "You tell me, you drew it."

"No, the hydra."

"Oh. I wasn't born yet." Peter returned his attention to the pictures. "So a really really long time ago."

"Right."

Sir Grant fell silent, let Peter look at the pictures. When Peter finished and handed it back, Sir Grant smiled at him.

"What's the verdict?"

"You're a real amazing artist, Sir," Peter told him honestly.

"Well, thank you, it's mostly just—" Sir Grant began, rubbing the back of his neck in embarrassment, but Peter cut him off impertinently.

"No, really," he insisted, "Art's a part of my lessons, but mine never turn out good. I tried to draw Daddy last week, but I forgot a lot of him. Like his nose, I think. But you got everything."

"I've had plenty more practice than you." Sir Grant smiled. "You'll get there."

"Y'think?"

"Just keep drawing him." Sir Grant's smile went a little thin. "Soon enough you won't be able to forget a thing."

"Thanks, Sir Grant." Peter beamed back.

"You're welcome." Sir Grant patted his shoulder. "But just Joe is fine."

"Sure, Just Joe. And you can call me Prince Peter Parker Stark, his royal Greatness."

"As you wish, my liege." Joe stood, pressed one hand across his chest and bowed deeply. "Always a pleasure speaking with Prince Peter Parker Stark, his royal Greatness."

Peter giggled, earning another smile from Joe. "I'm glad you're not mad at me too, Just Joe."

"Too?" Joe frowned, immediately concerned. "Who's mad at you?"

"Not at me. But you're real mad at Daddy so I thought you might'a been mad at me, too."

"No, no, of course I'm not mad at you," Joe told him hastily, "And I'm not mad at your father, either. We're having a…disagreement, but I'm not angry with him."

"You sound angry," Peter pointed out, "Kind of a lot."

"It's…" Joe made a bit of a face, his mouth twisting a little. "Complicated."

"Cause of Steve?"

"Yes." Joe glanced down at his hands. "Because of Steve."

"Why don't you just get him to come back?" Peter pressed, "I bet he could clear it up."

"I'm sure he'd like to." Joe's mouth did the twisty thing again. "But I don't think your father cares much what he has to say for himself."

Peter wasn't sure what that meant. He ignored it and tried a different tactic. "Can you at least tell him about me? He might come back then, t'meet me. Daddy says he would've thought I was great."

"Your father is absolutely right." Joe's mouth finally stopped doing the twisty thing long enough to shoot Peter a smile.

"Then d'you think he'd at least send me a letter or something?" Peter pushed, "I really, really, _really _wanna meet him. Daddy says he fought a _dragon_ once—"

"It was just a hatchling." Joe looked oddly embarrassed by that. "And he didn't fight it, not really, he just—"

"Jumped right in front'a it when it was about'a burn Daddy," Peter finished eagerly, "Dumped his water pail on it right in time. Then they bundled it up so it couldn't claw 'em and he and Daddy and Sir Rhodey snuck into dragon territory to get it back to it's mama."

Joe was quiet for a long moment after that. He must've been absorbing the awesomeness of the story. When he spoke, he had a weirdly sad smile. Kind of like Daddy's.

"Your father tells you a lot of these, huh?"

"Sure, every night b'fore bed. Well, most nights. If I'm good." Peter quickly added, "I'm usually good."

"I bet you are." Joe's smile loosened a little.

"So are you gonna tell Steve about me?" Peter bounced a little, eager.

"You know, Peter, I think…I think Steve might be better left in the past." Joe gave a bit of a sigh.

"Great, you too." Peter scowled moodily.

"Me too?" Joe shot him a curious look.

"Sir Rhodes says I'm not supposed to talk about him," Peter admitted, "But he's your cousin, so I thought it'd be okay."

"Why can't you talk about him?"

"He says it makes Daddy either real mad or real sad, so I shouldn't do it. But Daddy always says we gotta remember him, no matter what Sir Rhodes says."

"Remember him? You never met him."

"No." Peter fidgeted, gaining momentum and excitement as he talked. "But I want to. That's why you gotta tell him to come back, so I can meet him. Daddy says we'd have been real good buddies, him and me, says Steve would've adored me cause I got sass like he does. He says Steve's real nice, too, that he's smart and kind and honest and has a real big heart with plenty'a room for me."

"Your father really…" Joe's voice was soft, almost silent, like he couldn't quite draw up the right words. He was making a funny sort of face, all scrunched and sad, and he swallowed hard before he spoke again. "He said all that?"

"Yeah!" Peter smiled, pleased that he might finally be getting through to Joe. "Steve's the best."

"What did your father tell you happened to him, exactly?"

"A real mean wizard stole him away in the middle of the night with…" Peter wiggled his fingers the way Daddy always did when he told the story. "_Black magic."_

"Black magic?" Joe gave a small, aborted laugh.

"Uh-huh. But Daddy says Steve's the strongest there is, so when—"

"He's been telling you that?" Joe interrupted again. He was real bad at that. "That Steve was…strong?"

"Well, duh." Peter rolled his eyes, repeating what Daddy had told him countless times, "Strength's all in the heart."

"Strength's all in the heart," Joe echoed quietly, like it confused him.

"Yeah." Peter gave him a weird look. "So obviously he broke free and defeated the wizard, he just can't find his way home. But you can talk to him, can't you? You can help us find him?"

"I would love to, but…" Joe sighed. "I'm not certain Steve belongs here anymore, Peter."

"Course he does." Peter frowned. "I want him here. Daddy wants him here. Don't you?"

"More than anything." Joe smiled softly.

"Then we can't give up," Peter told him decisively, "Steve wouldn't."

"You'd be surprised what people would do given the right reasons." Joe sighed. "What if giving up made everyone happier?"

"Why would giving up make anyone happy?" Peter didn't understand.

"Well…" Joe mused. "What if Steve leaving meant your father could have you? Isn't that a very good thing?"

"How come he can't have me _and_ Steve?"

"You'll understand the logistics of that a little better when you're older." Joe ran a hand through his hair. "But just, say that he couldn't have both. Shouldn't Steve leave, so your father could have you and everything else he deserves in life?"

Peter pondered that. Obviously Daddy had to have him, but… "Heroes don't give up."

"They certainly never want to," Joe agreed, "But maybe sometimes they need to put someone else before themselves."

"Being a hero sounds hard," Peter lamented. Daddy always made it seem so easy.

Joe shot him a wry smile. "Unfortunately, most things worth doing in life are."

"Oh." Peter wrinkled his nose. "What about fighting?"

"What about fighting?"

"Well, you're real good, right? Was it hard to get that good?"

"Very." Joe chuckled. "But then, I didn't have much of a foundation to start with."

"Could you show me some of it?" Peter asked eagerly.

"You Starks." Joe sighed, but it was fond. "Always itching for a fight."

"Not a real one," Peter insisted. He scooted off the bench, then took Joe's hand and tugged him along. Joe conceded willingly, standing up and tucking his notebook under his arm. "Just to help me practice. Daddy usually does right now, but he's meeting with Lord Osborn, I think, and Harry didn't come this time."

"You're quite the daddy's boy, aren't you?" Joe gave a soft snort.

"Duh." Peter rolled his eyes. "My Daddy's the best."

"Bet he loves hearing that." Joe chuckled.

"Yeah." Peter took the steps down two at a time. "But he tells me I'm the best, too. He says I got him and he got me and that's all we need."

"Right." Joe went sort of quiet at that.

"I mean, knights are cool too," Peter amended quickly. He hadn't meant to make his new friend feel unwanted. "I just meant—"

"I understand what you meant, Peter," Joe assured him, "You can't imagine how very glad I am your father has you. You just watch out for him for me, alright?"

"Yessir." Peter nodded seriously.

"Good." Joe shot him a mischievous grin. "Now what do you say I teach you a trick you can use against your father next time you spar, hm?"

Peter's eyes lit up. "Yeah!"

* * *

"You have to admit it was pretty funny." Bruce chuckled.

"He's seven," Tony grunted, "He's supposed to idolize me, not be looking for ways to kick my ass."

They were in Bruce's quarters. Bruce was technically speaking the court mage, not a healer, but Tony had never much liked healers. He preferred to have Bruce, who knew his fair share of healing spells, treat him instead. Besides, he wasn't even really injured this time. He'd just fallen on his ankle a little strangely. At the moment, he was far more interested in venting. Bruce only rolled his eyes, moving to his table to mix something Tony presumed would help.

"Peter adores you more than anything. He didn't mean for you to fall the way you did. Just because he managed to get the upper hand once—"

"He _cheated," _Tony insisted, still furious, "And I'd bet you anything that damned Grant taught him—"

"You know it's not right." Bruce sighed, turned back to his work. "What you're doing? Holding some grudge against a man you barely know just for being related to Steve?"

"I know him plenty," Tony muttered moodily, if perhaps nonsensically.

"From shouting at him across the dinner table? From benching him at every given opportunity despite the fact that he's easily the best knight we've seen in decades?" Bruce shook his head. "The man practically acts like he's owed whatever abuse you dish out, I doubt you'd even have to apologize to him. You could simply move on from all this."

"Move on, move on, move on," Tony muttered, "Wherever have I heard that before?"

"I didn't mean from Steve." Bruce sighed again. "I meant from this ugly feud business."

Bruce knew the true nature of his and Steve's relationship. Many years ago, Tony had been on a quest with his knights and stumbled upon something called dreamshade. He'd been…less than cautious with it, as he was with most things in those days, and caught his hand on a thorn. He'd been burning up before they left the glen, unconscious before they made it halfway home. The magical cure for dreamshade—the only cure—was complex and involved someone stepping into his mind, retrieving him from the dream that kept him trapped within. It had to be done fast so Bruce had simply done it himself, completely unprepared for what awaited him.

Bruce had seen a portion of Tony's most intimate memory. He'd only glimpsed a moment, but it was still enough to see someone's very naked, very male backside, put the pieces together and quickly shazam himself and Tony away. Tony was thankful for that, if nothing else; had Bruce not reacted as quickly as he had, he would've seen something far more intimate, far more vulnerable, than sex.

Though, the vulnerability Tony had displayed when Bruce yanked him from the dreamshade's grasp was nearly as bad. The dream had just felt so real, so right, that when Tony realized he'd returned to a Steve-less reality, he'd had to bury his head between his knees just…breathe, for a moment. It was the closest he'd ever come to crying in front of anyone. It was pathetic and a display he never should've allowed himself, but he'd _believed_. For a few hours, he'd truly believed he'd found his way home. Then he'd blinked and it had been ripped away from him.

Again.

Bruce, for his part, had said nothing of Tony's near breakdown then and nothing since. He'd sat next to Tony on the cot, simply waiting until Tony finished pulling himself together. It hadn't taken long—twenty years of hiding his every weakness had to be worth something—and Tony had turned to him with dry eyes and his calmest expression.

"_You can't speak of what you saw to anyone. Not ever."_

"_I wouldn't," Bruce assured firmly. Then, with hesitance, "That's Steve, isn't it? The one who left?"_

"_Yeah." Tony shook his head, numbly repeating, "The one who left."_

"_I assume you haven't told anyone about the, uh, extent of it?"_

"_No." Tony hung his head in his hands, ran them through his hair. "Jesus, no."_

"_I'm no expert in…healing." Tony knew he'd been about to say grieving. He liked that he didn't. "But if you'd ever like to talk about what happened, I would listen."_

_Tony fell silent. He didn't say anything for a long time._

"_I don't know what happened. That's—that's the worst of it. He's my soulmate, I _know _that he is, but I haven't the slightest idea why he left. Not a damn clue. I mean…" Tony could feel himself choking up again, and he shoved it down, hard. "I pushed him. I think. But not enough that he'd…I don't know. If you'd have asked me then, I'd have told you it was impossible for me to push Steve enough to leave my side. Now, how can I be sure?"_

"_Pushed him?"_

"_We'd talked about the future before. Not…we knew the reality of our situation, but we made up all these…dreams, these lives where we could be together anyway. All kinds of lives, in strange places and times, where we could be together openly. And I…I didn't want it to be a dream. I _don't _want it to be a dream. So I asked him to marry me." Bruce didn't say anything. Tony straightened, jaw clenched to stop the onslaught of emotions that threatened to break free again. "He was gone by morning."_

Tony shook the memory away.

He'd talked to Bruce about Steve many times over the years. He hated that Bruce had seen even a sliver of a moment meant only for Steve and himself, but he was grateful for the consequences. His grief hadn't gotten any lighter, but it was easier to carry when he didn't always have to hold his tongue. If anyone would understand what it meant to Tony that Steve was back, it would be Bruce.

"About that—" Tony was interrupted by the door opening without a knock. Who would dare to—

"I need to speak to the king," Steve demanded, seeming to be speaking to Bruce though his eyes were on Tony the moment he entered the room.

Naturally.

"You ought to knock," Tony drawled.

"You ought to speak with me," Steve shot back.

"I'm treating his ankle, Sir Grant," Bruce intervened, "He's busy. You can speak when I'm finished."

"And I've a meeting after this, anyway." Tony waved him on. It was actually true for once, too. "I'll find you when I'm free."

"I'll wait." Steve sat on the cot closed to the door, as if to block Tony's exit.

"I don't recall inviting you to."

"Tony." Bruce looked at him sharply and damn it, Bruce still thought he ought to smile and place nice with the man who'd fucking ripped his heart out. Tony really should've told him. He would. Later.

"I taught Peter that trick, but—" Steve began.

"Believe me," Tony cut him off icily, "I am more than aware."

"_But," _Steve repeated forcefully, continuing onwards, "I didn't mean for him to hurt you. I would _never_. I know we haven't…" A glance at Bruce. "Gotten off on the right foot, and I know you haven't forgiven me for my cousin's actions, but I would never dream of teaching Peter, or anyone, something I thought would hurt you. I didn't think you would fall the way you did—"

"He caught me off-guard." Tony grit his teeth. "I haven't seen a move that dirty in, oh, near to a decade now."

"He's smaller than you," Steve replied, a ghost of a smile on his face at the words, "He's got to get the upper hand somehow."

"_I'm smaller than you." Steve, the dirty rotten cheater, just extended a hand to Tony to help tug him up. Tony begrudgingly accepted. Steve's hand lingered longer than necessary, squeezing his own once with a dazzling, mischievous smile. "I've got to get the upper hand somehow."_

Tony clenched his hands tight enough that his nails dug into his palms.

"Regardless, I don't like being watched. Wait outside."

"You love being watched." Steve snorted, then tried to hide it in a cough upon realizing Bruce was staring at him.

Bruce glanced between them a moment, then narrowed his eyes at Steve. "Sir Grant, I'm afraid I'm going to have to ask you to leave for a moment while I finish."

"I'd rather—"

"Stay, yes, I'm sure." There was something about the way Bruce said it; Tony knew in an instant that he knew. "This will just take a moment. There's only one exit, regardless, you'll catch him as he leaves just fine."

Steve briefly looked ready to further argue his point, but a glance at Tony, who refused to meet his eyes, seemed to take the fight out of him. He deflated a little, nodding in concession to Bruce before silently taking his leave. The moment the door shut, Bruce flicked his injured ankle.

"Ow! What was—?"

"You know exactly what that was for," Bruce hissed with a glance to the door, "What is _wrong _with you?"

"A great number of things, shall I list them off?"

"I have so many questions I'm not even certain where to begin." Bruce rubbed a hand to his forehead.

"Welcome to the insanity that has become my life." Tony snorted.

"You knew the moment you laid eyes on him. I knew something shook you up that day, why didn't you say anything?"

"What is there to say?" Tony grit his teeth. "He left. Does it matter why?"

"You've been desperate for an answer for years and now that you can have one it doesn't matter?"

"Yes?" Tony rubbed both hands over his face. "No? I don't—I don't know, Bruce, I don't. I thought—he's clearly fine. No one held him against his will. No one dragged him off in the middle of the night. Had they, he wouldn't have gone through this ridiculous show of being a knight, he'd have come right to me. He left of his own volition, I know that much. Isn't that all that really matters? He _chose _to _leave me_—_"_

Angry and bitter, his voice scraped over the last of it. He shut his mouth firmly and turned his head to take a moment to collect himself.

"What he did wasn't right," Bruce interjected quietly, "But he could've had good intentions. He obviously wishes to speak to you. Is there any harm in at least hearing him out?"

"I'll cave, Bruce," Tony admitted softly, "One word out of him that even remotely resembles an apology and I'll cave like the past ten years never even happened and I can't—I could barely do it the once, if I let him back in and he leaves again, I don't—I can't go through that again. I refuse to."

"He's not going to give up trying to speak to you." Bruce glanced at the door. "He seems…he doesn't act like a man who doesn't care, Tony."

"I know." Tony buried his face in his hands. "I _know _that. But a man who cares doesn't leave without a word, either."

"I thought he was insisting something about a note?"

"He was. Is. He keeps saying there was, but you weren't there. Rhodey and Happy know, I turned the whole castle upside down looking for something, _anything _he could've left me. I imbued meaning into a hundred things, none of it real. I turned up the floorboards, emptied both our rooms, stripped the very bed of its sheets in hopes he'd tucked something there. I turned up nothing. He couldn't have left a note, it's simply not _possible."_

Bruce was silent for a moment, then shot Tony a cautious glance. "Could someone have gotten to it first?"

Tony considered that. He wanted to say no, that they would've acted differently enough towards him that he would've noticed, but the truth of it was he hadn't noticed much of anything in the weeks afterwards. Any of the maids or servants in the place could've found it and been staring at him openly for ages after and he'd have hardly spared them a glance. But why hide it? Why not give it to him? Who could be so cruel?

"It's possible." Tony ran a hand through his hair. "But does it really matter? Maybe he left a note. It doesn't change the fact that he didn't take ten goddamn seconds to wake me and tell me he was leaving in person. I _deserved _that."

"You did," Bruce agreed gently, "You deserved closure, Tony. You needed it, and I think you still do. You really should talk to him."

"I need more time." Tony shook his head. "Just enough to get my head on straight. To grasp the fact that this is actually happening and not all just another dream."

"The fact that this still qualifies as a dream and not a nightmare has to count for something, doesn't it?" Bruce's lips quirked up.

Tony nodded mutely. He didn't mention that anytime he got to see Steve's face again, even just once, qualified as a dream no matter the circumstances.

"Well." Bruce sighed, crouching in front of Tony with some kind of green poultice. "If you're going to continue avoiding him, you're going to need full use of your ankle."

That got a bit of a rueful laugh from him. "I'd appreciate having it, certainly."

Bruce took Tony's ankle in one hand and scooped out a small handful of the green stuff in his other. He pressed it to Tony's ankle, really rubbed it in and _Christ _did that hurt. When Bruce finished, he gestured for Tony to stand.

"Any soreness?" he questioned. Tony stood on it, rolled it around a bit. Nothing.

"Good as new. Thank you."

"You're welcome." Bruce smiled, but it was softened by pity. Tony loathed it. Bruce, likely seeing Tony's distaste in his expression, rolled his eyes. "Go on, sneak out the back."

"Back?" Tony questioned with a frown. "What back? Didn't you just tell Steve there wasn't one?"

"I was making sure you had an out. I assumed you had your reasons to want one." Bruce gave a small shrug then a jerk of his head in the right direction. "Go around the corner, there's another door."

Tony was impossibly grateful for it. He knew Steve would be waiting outside the other door for hours if Bruce didn't inform him Tony had left, his stubbornness getting the better of him, but Tony also felt rather vindictively pleased by that. The simple truth of it was, he wasn't ready to be alone with Steve no matter what Steve himself seemed to think. If Tony could finally say all the things he'd had to hold in for the past ten years, if he had to dredge up a past it had nearly killed him to bury, he had absolutely no idea what would happen. He wasn't eager to find out. He headed to his meeting instead; if Thor couldn't cheer him up, no one could.

"Anthony!" Thor boomed with a grin as he entered the room. "It's good to see you, how fare thee?"

"I'm doing well." Tony grinned back, because it was hard not to return a Thor-grin no matter how you felt. He crossed to give Thor a welcoming hug. "It's good to see you too, old friend. Sorry about the wait, bit of a medical issue just before you arrived."

"You are well now, of course?" Thor pressed, concern evident.

"Perfectly well," Tony assured, "Thank you. I got your letter, but you were vague. To what do I owe the pleasure?"

"More trouble than pleasure, I fear." Thor gave a gusty sigh. He glanced at the knights he'd travelled with, his famously talented Warriors Three and the legendary Lady Sif. "I'm afraid the nature of these matters is rather sensitive."

He glanced at his knights, who must've been told in advance that they'd need to allow for privacy, as they bowed to their Prince then took their leave silently and immediately. Tony was admittedly surprised; he hadn't expected anything more serious than a visit from an old friend. King Odin and King Howard had been great allies, and when they'd held meetings in Midgard the young princes Thor and Loki would always come with King Odin to visit. The same had been true of many trips to Asgard, resulting in a strong bond of friendship between he and Thor. Loki was a peculiar one—rumor had it he was not even a legitimate child—but Thor Tony had always trusted.

"I much appreciate your seeing me." Thor seemed to sober and it was a grave sight; off the battlefield, Thor was rarely anything but jovial. "What do you remember of my brother?"

"Not much." Tony tilted his head. "He hasn't been by in quite some time. He used to cheat at chess, I remember that."

That earned a laugh from Thor, but it was rueful. "He still does. You know of his magic?"

"I most certainly do." Tony snorted. "He suspended me from the balcony with it once."

"Indeed." Thor chuckled. "And your manservant punched him in the face for it, did he not?"

"Sure did. Hell of a bloody nose, that."

"Aye, and he certainly earned it." Thor sighed, leaning forward. "He is much the same, my brother. When he feels slighted, he will go to great lengths to gain his vengeance."

"Vengeance?" Tony frowned. "What has he to seek to vengeance for?"

Thor paused for a long moment. Tony suspected what he was about to say, and understood the weight of it. For a member of another kingdom, much less a prince, to admit to a weak link in the royal chain wasn't done. Tony could easily use the knowledge to his advantage, push for war; Asgard was just to the North, would be easy to incorporate into their territory. Tony laid a hand on Thor's shoulder and squeezed in reassurance.

"You're an old friend, Thor. You will lead your kingdom well one day and I would fight any fool who dared claim otherwise."

"You have a good heart, Anthony. Your support means much to me." Thor nodded solemnly. "My father is ill, gravely so. He sleeps much of late, and we fear he will soon not rise at all. He knows this. It is why he told us that my brother is not my brother by blood. It is not something I consider of import, but it is something Loki has taken grave offense to. He has disappeared completely. Rumors say that he is gathering an army."

"If you need men, Thor, you know I will readily lend you all that I can—"

"It is you I fear for." Thor shook his head. "His vendetta is personal. With father ill, it is me he wishes to hurt and to do so I fear he will strike at your kingdom, particularly—"

"Lady Jane," Tony realized.

Thor had been in love with her for many years. He made excuses to visit Midgard often and though he at first merely spent his visits pining after her, he now spent long walks with her around the kingdom and into the safer parts of the forests whenever he came. He was not, however, officially courting her, regardless of how many times Tony had urged him to do so.

"Yes." Thor sighed wearily. "I have brought my finest knights with me and we will defend your kingdom and Lady Jane to the last, should you allow it. This is a mess of my own making, I am deeply sorry for the trouble it will cause you."

"It's of no one's making but Loki's," Tony assured him, "We welcome the assistance, not to mention the warning. I'll assign a detail to Lady Jane. Unless of course you'd rest easier doing so yourself?"

"I would indeed." Thor nodded gratefully.

"Then so it shall be. Now." Tony leaned back with a smile. "Tell me of her, how does she fare? Certainly you went to see her before meeting with me, don't say that you didn't."

"She lives in your castle, Anthony." Thor chuckled, but didn't deny it. "You know how she fares."

"But I know her not as you do." Tony brushed his deflection off. "You love her enough your brother seeks to harm her, why haven't you declared your intentions to her already?"

"Who says I have not?" The corner of Thor's lips turned up slyly. Tony laughed.

"Scoundrel. And you didn't tell me?"

"We have mentioned it to no one." Thor shook his head. "I tell it to you now because for all the trouble I am about to reign upon you, you at the very least deserve a fair understanding of the situation."

"And that is?"

"Lady Jane and I have declared our intentions for each other, to each other. I told only my brother. She told only Lady Darcy. And I tell you, now: we do very much wish to marry one day. She is not eager to leave Midgard, however, and I cannot leave Asgard without some form of leadership, not now. We will find our compromise someday, I am certain, but for the moment it eludes us."

"Royalty is quite ill-suited for love," Tony remarked with a sigh.

"You speak from experience?"

"My fiancé ran off, do you not recall?"

"A fiancé you did not love." Thor watched him carefully, knowingly. "I recall that much."

"Indeed." Tony sighed passively. Thor had displayed great trust in him by sharing his kingdom's woes. It was not such a leap to share some in kind. "But I am not as heartless as I seem."

"Nor are you as heartless as you think yourself," Thor told him.

"Perhaps not." Tony shot him a rueful smile. "I loved someone, once. I gave them all the love I had and they took it with them. I had nothing left to offer a fiancé. It's why she ran and why I understood."

Thor said nothing, but it was not an unkind silence. Thor likely suspected if not outright knew who Tony spoke of. They'd been friends many years, after all, even if they didn't see each more than a handful of times a year these days. He knew no one's leaving had devastated Tony like Steve's had. It was hardly a stretch. Still, Thor did not comment on it outright and for that Tony was thankful.

"There is always hope, my friend." Thor smiled kindly. "You said you loved them once. Do you still?"

The answer should've taken a moment's consideration. After everything they'd been through, all the time that had passed, how furious he still was at Steve for it all; he should've had to mull it over. He didn't.

"I never stopped."

"Then there is hope indeed."

"There's no way to know if they still return my devotion." Tony ran an aggravated hand through his hair with a sigh he felt deep in his bones. "It's been many years."

"Do you believe their love was true?"

"I can't believe anything but."

"Then time will have done nothing." Thor dismissed his worries with an ease that made Tony greatly envious, clasping a hand to his shoulder in assurance. "Love can be clouded, yes, but never forgotten. You will find your way to each other again, Anthony. Of this I am certain."

"I wish for the days when finding was the only problem." Tony sighed ruefully.

"If you've found them, what stops you?"

"If only I knew." Tony scrubbed a hand over his face. Between Thor and Bruce, he was growing less certain by the moment. "They wish to talk. I haven't the slightest idea what to say. I'm not even certain they returned for me at all, or if they simply returned to their home. And if they truly do no longer return my devotion…I can hardly bear the thought, I've no desire to hear it said to my face."

"You were always so quick to assume the worst." Thor gave a humorless chuckle. "I cannot imagine why they would return if not for you, Anthony."

"Perhaps," Tony admitted. But perhaps not.

He wasn't ready yet to find out.


	5. Chapter 5

"Steve Rogers."

Steve turned his head before he could think not to. Staring back at him was the knowing face of Bruce Banner.

"You're a little taller than Tony described you." Bruce's mouth quirked up for a flicker of a moment.

"Shit," Steve mumbled.

"So." Bruce closed the door behind himself, resting against it. "Ten years."

"Is, uh." Steve cleared his throat awkwardly. "Is the king still inside?"

"He went out the back," Bruce informed him casually.

"There's a back?" Steve frowned.

"Yes. Why have you returned?"

"Excuse me?" It wasn't the question he'd been anticipating.

"I asked you why you've returned," Bruce repeated simply. Steve couldn't read him; his voice was too even, his expression free of any tells. Steve wasn't sure how open to be with him.

"Midgard is my home."

"Is it?" Bruce mused, "Been gone a while."

"I had some things that needed taking care of."

"At Tony's expense?" Bruce tilted his head. Steve fell silent. How much had Tony told him? Bruce raised an eyebrow at him with something akin to amusement. "Why don't you come in, Sir Rogers."

Steve glanced around as surreptitiously as possible. There seemed to be no one around, but Bruce's indiscretion still made him nervous. Bruce simply opened the door, gestured for Steve to go in. He wasn't particularly enthused about the conversation that would be sure to follow, but if Tony had gone so far as to escape him out the back door he clearly still wasn't willing to talk. It would be more prudent at the moment to find out exactly how much Bruce knew.

"Your expressions don't hide much, do they?" Bruce chuckled as Steve stepped inside. Steve tried valiantly to school his face into something less telling, but he'd never been particularly good at deception.

"What exactly has our king told you of me?" Steve asked instead of responding.

"Enough to know you didn't leave because you had business elsewhere." Bruce eyed him shrewdly. "And you didn't return because you were homesick."

"I came back for my friend," Steve conceded.

"Rhodey or Happy?" Bruce inquired.

"Them as well, but I meant our king."

"Ah. Then you certainly use the term 'friend' quite liberally, don't you?"

Steve narrowed his eyes. "If there's something you'd like to say, say it."

"You loved him." Bruce's expression was still frustratingly unreadable. Apparently, Steve's wasn't: "You still do."

"How I feel is a private matter between—" Steve began stiffly, but Bruce only chuckled.

"There isn't a man woman or child in the whole castle who isn't perfectly aware of how you feel, Sir Rogers."

"I wish you wouldn't call me that." Steve sighed. He didn't have it in him to be surprised; a decade without seeing Tony, it was inevitable he'd be unable to curb his gaze enough to effectively hide his regard. "It's no longer my name."

"For now, perhaps." Bruce shrugged.

A beat of silence passed between them; Steve couldn't resist.

"Did he tell you?"

Bruce nodded. "Not of his own volition."

"How do you mean?"

"Have you heard of dreamshade?"

Nasty stuff. He, Bucky and Sam had run into someone infected by it a few years ago; they'd been staying a small township outside of Vanaheim when a hysterical man had come bursting into the bar calling frantically for anyone possessing medicinal talents. None of them were overly skilled, but Sam in particular knew a few tricks so they'd gone with him to see what could be done to help. His wife had been pale and feverish when they'd arrived, worsening no matter what they tried and dead within hours. It had been an unpleasant experience and the thought of how helpless he'd been still left a sour taste on Steve's tongue; Tony had gone through that? His heart clenched with the desire to go check on him now, despite knowing full well Tony clearly still lived and wouldn't appreciate seeing Steve so soon after escaping him anyway.

"By the twisting of your expression, I'd say you certainly have." Bruce eyed him.

"There was this woman…I didn't know her, but she had a fever of some kind and nothing we did could get it down. How did Tony survive it?"

"The plant isn't medicinal, it's magical; magic cures magic." Bruce waved a hand idly, green sparks playing along his fingertips. "Dreamshade uses your strongest memories to trap you within your own mind. If you can retrieve the person from the depths of their mind, you can bring them back. If the poison reaches their heart they're irretrievable, but Tony was brought to me quickly enough. In retrieving him, I saw a portion of the memory that trapped him."

"And I was in it," Steve realized. Tony hated him so much now that he reflected on their time together as the stuff of _nightmares?_

"You misunderstand." Bruce clearly saw the horror in his expression. "Dreamshade's power comes from the desire of a person to stayin their memory. It draws on only the most powerful, cherished memories it can find to use to that end."

Steve dropped Bruce's gaze. "Ah. So what you saw…"

"I can understand why Tony preferred it to his reality," Bruce acknowledged. He paused a moment, musing over something, "He thinks I only saw a flash. I didn't have the heart to tell him otherwise."

"Otherwise being?"

"Pulling him out…" Bruce sighed. "He didn't want to wake. Magic only took me into his mind, waking him I had to do on my own. I had to bring him to the awareness that he was dreaming, but he couldn't see or hear me at first…nothing penetrated the fog he was in. I've woken a few people from dreamshade before, I have practice. None have been so hard to wake as him. And I've never seen…"

Bruce fell silent. Steve both wanted to hear the rest and hated himself for it; he stayed silent as well. After a moment Bruce shook his head.

"Tony adores his son. He loves Peter with everything that he is and is happy with that, don't mistake me. But there was a…lightness to Tony then that I've never once seen in him before or since. Youth played a part in it, I'm sure, but I also believe you took a part of him with you when you left."

"He's made a life for himself just fine without my aid," Steve insisted.

"Of course he has." Bruce snorted. "Tony functions better than anyone without aid of anyone, he's not a man who needs babying. That said, needing your presence and wishing for it are two separate matters entirely and he's been doing the latter for years. By the looks of you, it seems you've done the same. By the way you'd looked at him in the memory I saw I'd always assumed your affections had been tampered with…I admit, the fact that you simply threw a tantrum is a bit of a letdown."

"That—it wasn't—" Steve gaped at the nerve of this man. "I most certainly did not throw a _tantrum."_

The look Bruce shot him was utterly withering. "If you weren't yet ready to marry, leaving the castle was hardly your only recourse."

"If I…" Steve frowned, realization dawning. "No. That's not—that was _never—_is that what Tony thought all this time? It didn't have a thing at all to do with that, I would marry him in a heartbeat!"

Bruce raised both eyebrows. It was too late to withdraw the sentiment now; Bruce wouldn't believe him if he tried, regardless. Silence fell again as Bruce scrutinized him and Steve tried his best not to feel see-through.

"Then what possessed you to leave?" Bruce simply asked.

"I did what was best for him," Steve insisted. Bucky and Sam had seen his point of view, but they were biased and Tony would hardly listen to them. If he could convince Bruce of his good intentions, perhaps then Tony would listen to him? "We couldn't get married, no matter how much I or he or both of us wished to. Tony didn't need a husband, but he did need a guard and I can _be _that now. I can stand at his side, can protect and serve him in ways I couldn't before. You saw me in that…memory, or dream, or whatever it was. A damn wind could knock me down, what good could I do Tony? He needed a bodyguard, not a scrawny brat of a lover who couldn't so much as hold him in the light of day. I couldn't be what Tony wanted me to be, but I can at least be what he needs. And that's better, isn't it?"

He could hear the desperate, imploring note in his voice and hated it, but there was little to be done about it. He'd chased this question round and round in his head for years. It would bring him immeasurable peace to hear someone that wasn't Bucky or Sam tell him he'd done the right thing. Bruce's mild expression betrayed nothing. Though it was a bit exasperating at the moment, Steve envied him for it.

"What exactly made you think you couldn't marry?"

It wasn't the answer Steve had been hoping for. Did no one but him in this damn kingdom understand how procreation worked? "The kingdom needed an heir. I don't know if you ever met King Howard, but I assure you he'd have had my head before he let me put his kingdom, not to mention his son's future, at risk. We could've run away, but…Midgard _deserves _a king like Tony. He's intelligent and brave, and kind beyond compare though he does his best to hide it. No matter how much I may have wished to, I could never justify hoarding him for myself."

"Hm." Bruce's mouth quirked up, not quite a smirk but not quite anything else. "You're certainly a martyr, aren't you?"

Steve clenched his jaw. He didn't need Bruce's approval, much as he'd have liked it. "If I hadn't left, Tony never would've found his queen, never would've had his son; I did the right—"

"What did you say?" Bruce's brows furrowed together, some mix of confusion and amusement appearing on his face.

Steve eyed Bruce warily. Was Bruce suggesting Tony would've fallen for his queen anyway, regardless of whether or not Steve had been around? It was possible, but ugly, bitter jealousy flared in his chest with unexpected force and Steve refused to believe it. Tony wouldn't have. Steve hadn't yet seen him with his queen, sure, but Tony had been happy with him. Tony had wanted to marry him once, surely he wouldn't have fallen under anyone else's spell if Steve had been around. He knew he was being bitter, and unreasonable to boot, but he couldn't bring himself to consider the idea that perhaps whatever love Tony had for his queen would've superseded his love for Steve whether or not Steve himself had been present.

"I said if I hadn't left, Tony wouldn't have his wife and son." Steve stood by his statement, refused to accept the alternative. "He's happy with them, and that's worth my leaving. Tony will agree with time."

Bruce shook his head. He looked like he almost wanted to laugh but couldn't quite bring himself to. "You poor bastard."

"I beg your pardon?" Steve frowned.

"Tony will forgive you." Bruce just shook his head again. "It's forgiving yourself you're going to have trouble with."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"You grew up in the castle, didn't you?"

"Is that supposed to distract me?" Steve gave a frustrated sigh. "Yes, I grew up in the castle. I don't know what that has to do with—"

"Mary Stark," Bruce interrupted, "Tony's second cousin. Madly in love with a man named Richard Parker. Ever meet them?"

"We played together as children, but I fail to see—"

"There was a fire," Bruce continued, undisturbed by Steve's attempts to derive meaning from his tangent, "When Tony was…oh, twenty-two or so, I'd think. I was an apprentice then under the last mage, more knew of Tony than actually knew him. Accidental and a true tragedy, since it took the lives of both Mary and Richard. King Howard and Queen Maria had already been poisoned at that point—"

"Poisoned?" A pang of regret twisted in Steve's chest; Tony's parents had been murdered, his cousins lost to a fire and he'd been left alone in the world at only, what, twenty-two? He must've been desperately lonely and Steve had failed him astronomically. Was that Bruce's point? To elaborate the many times Steve had failed to be there for Tony as he'd promised?

"Poisoned," Bruce confirmed, "They caught the poisoner, but it was too late to save them. It was Mary and Richard who convinced Tony he was ready to take the throne, and when they died, Tony returned the favor by taking in their infant son."

"You can't mean…Peter?" Peter wasn't Tony's? If Peter wasn't Tony's…and Steve had never seen or heard a word from anyone about a queen… "Tony isn't married, is he?"

"He was engaged for a time, to a Lady Virginia." Steve didn't have the slightest idea who that was. Bruce seemed to realize. "You might know her as Pepper."

"I did…" Steve couldn't but feel confused.

Pepper and Tony had always been closer, but Steve had liked and trusted her. She was the only person who'd ever outright acknowledged that she knew the true nature of his and Tony's relationship—though certainly Rhodey and Happy must have known as well—and she certainly wasn't the kind of person to go after Tony in his absence. But was it really 'going after'? He'd left for that exact purpose, hadn't he? To give Tony space to love and be loved in return by someone who could give him all that he deserved? Pepper could do so. She was a lady of the court, was of high status and a good bloodline and could've provided him with as many heirs as he desired. For all his gruff posturing, Tony had always loved children. It'd been apparent even when they'd only been teenagers and was ever more so now with Peter. So why had the engagement fallen through? Why wasn't Tony married to her now, running around after a whole pack of charmingly trouble-making squirts?

Bruce, seeming to sense his question, elaborated. "They were only ever engaged because after the disaster that was Tony's twenty-first birthday, King Howard insisted on it."

"Disaster?"

"He drank half the wine cellar and announced to the public he would never marry, as love was for pathetic, childish fools." Bruce paused, mulled it over. "The phrasing was looser and his language much more colorful, but his point was quite clear."

Steve's chest felt like someone had cracked it open. Pathetic, childish fools. He'd made Tony feel that way. Made him feel unwanted and foolish and—and—and how had he not considered that? He'd known he'd be hurting Tony for a time, but he'd thought—he didn't know what he'd thought. That Tony would move on. That Tony was too engaging, too brilliant and dynamic and kind to ever be alone long. He had so much to offer and was so willing to share that Steve had known the moment he left ten people would vie to take his place. Who wouldn't fight for the honor to stand at Tony's side? But he'd turned a blind eye to Tony's loyalty, his impossibly stubborn nature. He should've known Tony would've come to a conclusion like that, but he'd hoped…well. He'd been the real fool.

"What happened between them?" Steve cleared his throat after a moment, swallowing down the anger and regret rising ever faster.

"The engagement fell through nearly immediately after Tony's father passed." Bruce seemed to understand his internal conflict, a glimmer of kindness appearing in his expression. "I don't think they were ever in love. No clear reasoning was ever given for the break of it and Lady Virginia left to see the country soon after, though they still exchange letters so things between them clearly remain amicable. Something you could've done, by the way."

"I thought…I left a note, but I thought a clean break would be…" Steve ran an aggravated hand through his hair. "Better. For both of us. No backtracking, no wavering convictions, nothing to do but stick it through."

"A note would've saved him years of confliction," Bruce admitted, "I always got the impression he was torn between hating himself for loving you if you left him and feeling guilty for not trusting you if you'd been taken."

"God." Steve sank down onto the nearest cot, put his face in his hands. "The hell I've put him through…"

Bruce patted him awkwardly on the shoulder.

* * *

"—and then, and then!" Tony laughed so hard he had to bend over. "He _ate _it!"

Thor's booming laugh echoed through the hall as he joined in, throwing his head back and sloshing his drink in his enthusiasm. Neither of them noticed the first, third, or fifth time someone cleared their throat in the doorway.

"My _liege," _they announced at last, loud enough both men had to look up.

The light that lit Thor's face was immediate and breathtaking.

"My lady!" Thor was up and out of his seat in an instant, placing his drink on the side table and moving to meet Lady Jane in the entranceway. "I thought we were not to meet again until this evening's feast. Did you not have matters to attend to?"

"Your warriors' presence is appreciated, but overbearing." Jane sighed. "I assume the only peace I'll find is with you. You don't mind if I steal him away, do you sire?"

"Go on." Tony waved at them. "We've done all that needs doing for the moment and the patrols won't report back for hours yet. He's all yours."

"Yours indeed." Thor stopped just short of her, then took her in his arms for a kiss that had Jane blushing wildly.

She glanced over Thor's shoulder to Tony in worry—such public displays weren't exactly polite—but Tony only smiled at her kindly and waved them on again with as much indifference as he could muster. He turned back to his drink for a moment, swirled it idly while Thor murmured something to her he didn't try to catch. When they parted, Thor caught his attention.

"Anthony—"

"We'll talk more later." Tony drudged up a smile for him as well. "Go, Thor. I won't hear a word otherwise."

"I thank you again, old friend." Thor was too besotted with Jane's presence to notice anything begrudging about his smile, and Tony was thankful for it. He had no desire to discuss his childish jealousy. "Your benevolence is remarkable and will most assuredly not be forgotten."

Tony urged them out once more and they finally took their leave, beaming at each other brightly, Thor's hand clasped to Jane's back like she was utterly precious to him. Tony took another sip of his drink, then on second thought downed the rest of it. He was happy for his friends, of course. They'd been mooning after each for far too long for him not to be pleased that they'd taken up with each other after all. It simply didn't help that he was making his way to drunk and all he could think of was how Steve used to look at him like that.

Steve had always looked so pleased with him. All he'd ever had to was walk into the room to earn a smile; toss a glance Steve's way and he'd be at Tony's side in half a moment. He gave and gave, always looking for little ways to show his affection and make certain Tony knew he was loved. It'd been so constant; Steve had been constant. Tony never knew what it was like to not have someone light up for him until he'd been left alone in the dark.

He poured himself another glass.

Did Steve look at him like that anymore? Tony had been so busy avoiding eye contact or shouting him down he hadn't bothered to watch for it. And why the hell should he, anyway? He'd just get his damned hopes up all over again. Steve had chosen to leave him, to run off in the middle of the night and never look back; of course he wasn't going to be mooning at Tony like he had when they'd been hormone-stricken teenagers. Steve didn't give a damn about him anymore. The sooner Tony stopped expecting him to, the better off he'd be. He simply needed—

"Anthony?"

Well. He didn't need this, certainly. Tony pointedly didn't look up—he didn't need to, he'd only heard that voice in his dreams for the entirety of the past decade—scowling instead and reaching for more to drink. The bottle was empty. Empty? When had he emptied it? He'd only had…well. There was only one glass in his hand, that counted as one, didn't it?

"You're soused," Steve seemed surprised to realize, but then, Tony hadn't been a drunkard when he'd been around. Everything had been better, when Steve had been around.

"If you think I'm soused now, you'd have hated me in my early twenties," Tony remarked blithely, "Oh, wait, you did."

"I _never_ hated you—" Steve began to insist.

"Right, just like 'I'll _never _leave you, Tony'," Tony mimicked with a sneer into his pitiably empty glass, "You're a damned better liar than I ever gave you credit for, Rogers, I'll give you that. I can almost understand why I ever bought your sincerity bullshit."

There was a moment of silence, during which Tony did his level best not to look up. He nearly failed, but Steve spoke before he did.

"We shouldn't have this conversation right now." His voice was subdued, quiet. He was hurting, Tony knew, could hear it in his voice though he couldn't fathom why.

"Am I supposed to feel fucking sorry for you?" Tony snorted. "You decided when to leave. You decided when to come back. You knew where I was, knew what I was going through and chose to pretend—"

"I didn't know," Steve rushed to interrupt, "Your parents, your cousins, Pepper, none of it. I avoided news about you because it was painful and I—"

"There you go again." Tony shook his head bitterly. "Another decision you got to make. Another measure of control you got to take from me while I got to sit here on my fucking ass for ten years and hope like hell you were even still _alive _because _you _didn't deem it necessary to _fucking tell me you were leaving!"_

It wasn't until the glass crashed against the opposite wall that Tony realized he'd hurled it, wasn't until he swayed afterwards that he realized he'd stood up at all. Steve moved to steady him and Tony jerked away.

"Tony—"

"Don't you fucking touch me," Tony snapped.

There was a long moment of silence, as Tony finally made eye contact only to watch the litany of hurt play out at his rejection. It wasn't nearly as satisfying as he'd thought it'd be. For the first time in possibly his entire life, Tony looked into Steve's eyes and had absolutely no idea what he was thinking.

"I left a note," Steve said finally.

"Your _cousin _did_, _you mean?" Tony sneered.

"I left you a note," Steve repeated more insistently now, taking a step forward. Tony took a step back. Steve didn't try again. "I explained everything and—"

"Explained what, exactly?" Tony barked out a bitter, helpless sort of laugh. "Why you turned me down and left by morning? Why, after spending our entire damn lives together, I didn't even merit a goodbye? Why you left me alone in the first place, at the very time I needed you most?"

"You didn't need me—" Steve began to shake his head. Tony, fueled by anger and alcohol and the desperate, pathetic desire to touch Steve in any way at all, grabbed him by the shirt and shook the thick-headed moron as hard as he could.

"I have _always _needed you!"

Steve swallowed hard. He shook his head again, more forcefully, but didn't step back or remove Tony's hands from his shirt.

"I came back to serve at your side, Tony. Not to—to relive old memories."

"Old memories." Tony gave a dry, choked laugh, releasing Steve's shirtfront with a half-hearted shove for good measure. "You mean when you saved my life, turned down my marriage proposal, and left me all in twenty-four hours, those memories?"

"If that's how you remember it." Steve pursed his lips.

"And how do _you _remember it then?"

"I remember loving you. More than…" Steve looked away. "More than I ever thought one person could love another, more than any one man had a right to. But I did anyway and when Stane attacked you…what good did love do you? Nothing. You could've died, Tony."

"And how in the hell is that on you?"

"I should've protected you and I couldn't," Steve told him fiercely, "I was weak. You were meant for this life, the one you have. This is how I fit into that. I can't be your husband, but I can be your knight. I can protect you now and that's enough, for me. All I've ever wanted is to keep you safe."

"You never thought to ask me what I might want?"

"I know what you wanted." Steve softened. "I do. You made it clear, but—"

"Couldn't have gotten much clearer than _marry me."_

"You didn't mean—"

"Don't tell me what I meant," Tony spat.

"We were kids—"

"We were in love." Tony clenched his fists. "I didn't have a _crush, _Steve. I may have been overly optimistic about the future at times, but nothing about my love for you was an exaggeration. I asked you to marry me and I damn well meant it."

"You shouldn't have."

"And you shouldn't have left. I guess we all do stupid things."

"I didn't want…" Steve clenched and unclenched his fists, a sign he was anxious and aggravated. "This wasn't what I wanted for you."

"Then maybe you should've helped guide me a bit," Tony told him bitterly, "Even I can't read your mind when you're god knows how far away."

"I tried!_" _Steve insisted again, "I left you a note. I don't know happened to it, but I put it in your shirt the night I left and—"

"My shirt?"

"Yes!" Steve threw his hands up. "I wrote that I loved you in it, I wasn't going to place it on the damn table where just anyone could read it!"

"My father took my clothes. To be cleaned, he said, but…he never returned them. Said they were too blood-soaked to bother with and threw them away." Tony absorbed that for a long moment, before shaking his head fiercely. "I don't know why it even matters, I can't imagine what you'd say in any godforsaken letter that would change anything—"

"I apologized for failing you—"

"You never fucking failed me!"

"_I did!" _Steve roared. He shot forward as if to shake Tony by the shoulders, only to clench his hands into fists and drop them at his sides. "You were _stabbed in the chest, _you don't think that's a goddamn failure? You don't think that tore me up for weeks, for months, for _years? _You don't think all I wanted was to go home to you, to _beg_ for your forgiveness? I didn't _deserve _it, Tony! You would've given it, I know you would have, but I wouldn't have deserved it and I wasn't coming back until I could earn it and I _can _now! I'm strong enough, you've seen me in the field, I could fight dragons for you!"

"I never _asked_ you to fight dragons for me!" Tony shoved him hard, his voice near screaming levels. "You don't think I can fight a dragon? I've got a fucking magical sword and eighteen years of practice on you, _fuck _dragons! I needed _you, _Steve! I needed my best friend, my lover, my—you were _everything _to me and that's what I needed, not some white knight with a fucking hero complex!"

"I don't fit into your life any other way!" Steve looked desperately upset, but it only made Tony more furious. Steve didn't get to be upset. Steve let _him _down, _not _the other way around— "You're a _king, _Tony! I'm some servant's kid you bumped into by chance! I don't _get _to be your husband, your lover, your anything! I was blessed enough to call you mine once but we don't get the happy ending! The only role I can fill in your life is knight and I can't _do _that if I'm ninety pounds soaking wet!"

"And it never occurred to you that in the meantime I might be fucking devastated? That even if I got your stupid note, I might have one _hell_ of a say in the matter?"

"You were supposed to move on!"

"Did _you?"_

"Of course not!"

"Then why in the hell would you ever expect me to?" Tony shouted, "I cried myself to sleep for years over you! All this time, I've been caught between a rock and hard place wondering about you, wondering what in the hell could've happened to you. I thought, surely, you wouldn't leave me of your own will, that I was yours and you were mine and _surely _you wouldn't dream of doing something so cruel. But that meant you'd been taken, that you might be hurt or dead or lost forever, and I couldn't bear the thought of it so I thought perhaps it was better imagining you'd left on your own. But that meant imagining I meant so little to you I didn't even deserve a damn goodbye."

"You would've convinced me to stay." Steve seemed unable to look at him again.

"Would that have been so bad?" Tony was helpless to hide the pleading note in his voice.

"What if you'd been attacked again?" Steve shook his head sharply. "What if you died, because you didn't have someone competent watching out for you? You think I could live with that? I couldn't, Tony, I _can't_—"

"Who in the hell do you think is watching out for me now?" Tony threw his hands up. "It's the same people who've always watched out for me! The same people who would've watched out for me had you stayed right where you belonged. I'm as defended as I can be! I have my knights and I have myself and I have never, _not once, _needed you as a line of defense. I needed your presence. I needed your kinship. I needed your love and you deserted me for what, so you could come back and raise a sword in my name? I have hundreds to do that for me—"

"I left so you could be happy—"

"And any chance I had at that left with you!" Tony shouted, "You stubborn fucking _jackass! _What in the hell makes you think you know better than me? That makes you think you get to decide what makes me happy? You made me happy, _us _made me happy. And you know, that's what I understand the least about this damned excuse you've cooked up. I was supposed to, what? Find your note and just nod and smile? Go out and find some rosy-cheeked bride and never remember the best damned thing that ever happened to me? How could you possibly think so little of me? We were…" Tony's voice cracked. He hated himself for it just a little more. "Nothing I could find with anyone else would ever begin to compare to what we had. Tell me you knew that."

"I admit," Steve said softly, "I didn't think—didn't _want_ to think—that you would find a love like ours. But I couldn't have known about Mary and Richard, not then, and you deserved—still deserve—the world, Anthony. Marriage, children, a future. Peter is…God, you've raised him so wonderfully. He's whip smart, and adventuresome, and as mouthy as his father in all the best of ways. You deserve that in your life. You deserve everything, and I couldn't give that to you."

"So your solution was to break my heart."

"My solution was to give you space. I never wanted…" Steve glanced away. "I knew it would hurt. I wasn't blind to that. I knew it would hurt, but I thought that if I stayed away for long enough, that hurt would heal and you would find the things I couldn't give to you on your own without my distraction. I thought that you would forgive me. I still hold out hope for that."

Tony couldn't bring himself to speak for a long moment. Steve watched him in measured, cautious silence.

"If there was any way…" Tony began, unable to meet Steve's eyes. Steve knew immediately what he was asking.

"I would stay." Steve rocked forward half a step, before seeming unsure of his reception and thinking better of it. "Given half a chance at a do-over, I would stay. I left with high hopes and naïve convictions but knowing what I know now I never would have done so. I hurt you without cause, Anthony. I will never cease atoning for that."

The sincerity of Steve's expression was unbearable. He was almost too close for Tony to handle, close enough he could nearly feel the tension in Steve's stance, stiff and restrained and…strangely familiar. It was the way he'd always stood when Lord Stone visited and brought his son, Tiberius. Ty had been overly affectionate at best and handsy at worst, always making Steve look like he was ready to burst out of his skin with the urge to come over and steal Tony away for himself. He looked like that now, itchy, like he could only barely resist the urge to take Tony in his arms again. Before Tony could decide how he felt about that, the door was opening and someone was bustling in. Steve didn't move so much as an inch away; it was Tony who stepped back.

"News?" He glanced at Rhodey with as much composure as he could draw up. Rhodey glanced between them.

"I'm interrupting."

"No," Tony told him at the same time Steve said, "Yes."

"If you're talking, I'm leaving." Rhodey shook his head. "Phil knows perfectly well how to lead a search."

"Just give me the report," Tony demanded with a sigh.

Rhodey only snorted, shooting another glance Steve's way before turning back out the door.

"Tony—" Steve began.

"We're finished here," Tony finished for him firmly, turning on his heel and following out after Rhodey before Steve could say another word.


	6. Chapter 6

Tony caught up with Rhodey just down the hall, took him by the shoulder and tugged him back. "When I tell you to report, I expect—"

"For Christ's sake, Tony, go back there and talk to him." Rhodey glanced over his shoulder. "Get your answers before you lose your nerve."

"I don't know what you're—" Tony started, but Rhodey cut him off.

"You have never in your entire life looked at _anyone _the way you look at him." Rhodey fixed Tony with a look, undeterred by Tony's stunned silence. "What? I'm your best damn friend, you thought I never noticed?"

"You never _said _anything."

"And you never _told me." _Rhodey slugged him in the shoulder.

"What in the hell do you think you're doing, punching your king?" Tony complained, rubbing his shoulder.

"The bastard comes home and you don't even tell me, I earned it." Rhodey socked him again for good measure, but there was no heat to it. "I mean it, Tony. This 'suffer in silence' shtick has gone on long enough, I'm tired of pretending I don't recognize him. I'm not telling you to forgive the fucking martyr, I'm telling you to talk to him and at least get the answers you've been chasing for the better half of a decade."

"I've heard plenty." Tony pursed his lips, glanced away. "He left. His reasons are immaterial."

"And everything's just black and white for you, with him." Rhodey snorted. "Right."

"If anyone else had done this to me…" Tony clenched his teeth.

"No one else could've done this to you. Not like this." Rhodey shook his head. "That's why it hurts like it does. I'm not saying he deserves your forgiveness, not by a long shot. Hell, I'm not saying Happy and I haven't entertained the idea of backing him into a corner and taking a few swings. I'm saying he has answers that will help you find the closure you still need, and if he can help you he damn well has an obligation to."

It wasn't about answers, anymore. Tony had answers. Steve had left to get strong and play hero, he'd been stupid and foolish and always, _always _such a fucking martyr. Tony didn't need more answers. He needed time. He needed space. He needed to think, to catch a full breath somewhere away from Steve.

"You came in with something to report, Rhodey," Tony diverted. Rhodey scoffed. "Well?"

"A pack of trolls breached the northeast border of the forest," Rhodey told him reluctantly, "But Phil can—"

"I've matters to speak to Nick about," Tony interrupted, "Use that time to gather the knights. I'll meet you by the front gates."

"Tones, you need to deal with—"

"I am," Tony interrupted again, with a sharp edge of finality, "I did. I talked to him. Tried, anyway, but…I wished for this. I wished for this, over and over and over for ten damn years. I thought he'd return and explain away his disappearance and everything would be…_we _would be…I suppose I thought we'd be eighteen again, pick up right where we left off as if there'd never been so much as a mile between us, but he's explained himself, or tried, and I just…it's not the same, Rhodey, I want it to be, I want it to be desperately, but it's just—it's not—"

Rhodey pulled him into a hug before Tony could finish trying to explain himself, clasped both arms around him tight enough that Tony couldn't run. He didn't have the energy to fight it anyway, just gave in and wilted against one of his oldest friends.

"He left you." Tony jerked away, but Rhodey just clasped his shoulders. "No, listen. He was young and dumb and he left. That changes things. It's never gonna be the same, Tony, but it can get better. It can. If you want it to."

After a tense moment of silence, Tony glanced away but told him, "Those insistences about a mythical note might not have been so mythical."

"How so?"

"He says he left the note in my shirt; my father took the shirt." Tony pursed his lips bitterly. They'd never gotten on particularly well, but that his father would go that far… "It could've fallen out, but if he did find it there's only one person he would've told."

"Advisor Fury."

"Precisely."

"Go talk to him." Rhodey nodded in the direction of Nick's quarters. "I'll round up the knights. You're certain you want us to wait for you? Last time we ran into trolls it took less than half a day."

"Shouldn't take long." Tony shook his head. "He knows or he doesn't."

"If you say so." Rhodey nodded once more before taking his leave.

Tony…well, he admittedly dallied a moment. Steve was likely still just down the hall. He couldn't have heard Tony's conversation with Rhodey, the castle's walls were far too thick for that, but Tony hadn't heard him leave either. He walked down the hall as silently as he could manage, slowing as he approached the right door. Steve was on just the other side; another life, Tony would walk right in. Would be eager to. Another life and Steve would greet him with a smile, would pull him into his arms without a second's thought. No hesitance, no regrets, no bitter resentment clouding the only good thing Tony had ever touched.

He kept walking.

* * *

It wasn't often that Anthony reminded Nick of Howard.

They had their similarities, but Anthony had always been softer than Howard. There were good points to that, certainly; Anthony was better with his son than Howard had ever been, could draw up compassion at times when Howard would've only had impatience. It also had downsides, particularly in that Nick often found himself disagreeing with Anthony's tactics and decisions. He made too many compromises, was too easily persuaded by wide eyes and sympathetic stories.

Every so often, however, Nick caught glimpses so crystal clear it was like seeing a ghost.

Anthony entered his chambers without preamble, a right he had but didn't often use. There was a tick to his jaw and a flinty look in his eyes, anger visible in his every tensed muscle. Control wasn't always Anthony's specialty, but when he chose to draw on it there was an iron core to him that would've made Howard immensely proud.

"If there's anything you'd like to inform me of." Anthony's words were hard and calculated. His jaw ticked again. Nick hadn't seen him this angry since the incident with Barton's brother. "Perhaps something my father shared with you roughly ten years prior, now would be the time."

Nick had known this conversation was coming. He'd known since Steven's flimsy excuse for a "cousin" had shown up the other week. The resemblance was visible if looked for, but not enough to give the man away; it was the heated looks and bitter arguments that left no one fooled. Nick's thoughts were drawn back to the note, and he wondered for perhaps the hundredth time this week if Howard had truly made the right call.

"_Come in." Howard waved his goblet, gestured for Nick to enter his chambers. "Tell me, how is Anthony? He's returned, has he not?"_

"_He has." Nick closed the door behind him. Howard wasn't a particularly easy to read man, but Nick had known him since they were very young men; something was giving him trouble. "He is much the same."_

"_The search was unsuccessful, then."_

"_Yes." Nick sighed. "Anthony is…greatly disheartened. He hasn't spoken a word to anyone since his return and he's now barricaded himself within his room. I'm afraid he's done something to the lock, my key won't—"_

"_I'm sure he has." Howard waved Nick's concerns off. "But he's stronger than even he believes; he's a Stark. Let him collect himself. He'll come out when he's ready."_

"_He's taking this failure harder than the rest," Nick told him. Howard nodded in understanding._

"_I told him before he left this would be the final search. He can think me callous if he likes, but he can't continue to drain the castle's resources as he is. It's been two moons."_

"_More than fair."_

"_More than you expected of me, you mean." Howard chuckled at Nick, who lifted a shoulder just an inch in concession. "He thinks I don't sympathize. That's how it is, at his age. Anyone who doesn't value precisely what he does and precisely as much is simply wrong."_

"_He misses his friend. He'll understand in time."_

"_I wouldn't be so sure." Howard gave a wry, humorless chuckle. "Lock the door, would you? Maria hears of this she'll have my head for what I've done."_

"_What you've done?" Nick complied, locking the door. There was little Howard would keep from Maria; the phrasing concerned him._

"_My son…" Howard paused a long moment, downing the last of his drink emphatically. "Took a lover."_

_Nick had never noticed anyone out of the ordinary hanging about. Who could Anthony have taken up with? Howard waved his now empty goblet in a go on motion, waiting for Nick to finish the mental picture. It took only a moment._

"_Steven."_

"_Precisely." Howard raised his decanter in cheers, pouring himself more._

"_It explains much, I'll admit."_

"_Doesn't it?" Howard shook his head wryly. "I knew they were far fonder of each other than appropriate. I didn't suspect they'd acted on it, though in retrospect I certainly wonder how I couldn't have."_

_He'd caught the looks from time to time, he supposed…but same as Howard, he'd never thought they'd actually done anything about it. _

"_Are you certain?"_

"_Quite." Howard gave a heavy sigh, stepping to his dresser. He opened the small drawer in the top left, removed the false bottom and retrieved the letter. He passed it to Nick. "When I took Anthony's clothes to be washed the morning after the attack, I found this in his shirt pocket."_

_Nick accepted the already opened letter, absorbed its contents in silence. He couldn't help the climb of his eyebrows with every sentence. It took quite a bit to faze him, but then, the letter fell easily into that category. He could feel Howard watch on with faint amusement in spite of everything._

"_I always thought he was good for Anthony," Howard mused, leaning against the dresser, "Didn't think of it as a match at the time, of course, but as a companion Steven complimented him well. Helped Anthony cool his heels, keep his temper. He was of strong character, too, in his own right; though he certainly hasn't the build for it I've seen him jump into a fight more than once on Anthony's behalf without hesitation. Rather impressively literate for someone of his age and class as well, though I suspect Anthony had a hand in that."_

"_I've caught Anthony stealing books out of the library before," Nick realized, "I always wondered why he bothered when he could come back at any time."_

"_Class I could've ignored, you know," Howard admitted, "It's been done before, and Steven's been living here since he was young. Anything he didn't know by now he could've simply learned. Were he a woman, I'd have had them long engaged by now. The situation being as it is…I admit I have much respect for Steven. Had Maria been a man, had I been forced into such a position…I'm not certain I would've allowed another into her heart no matter the cost to her future."_

"_Leaving to allow Anthony to marry…intending to return as a knight and nothing more…" Nick gave a heavy sigh. "Rather noble in theory, but does he really think Anthony would give in so simply?"_

"_Steven's own desire to leave a letter blinded him." Howard shook his head. "If Anthony gets this, if he knows for certain that Steven will return? He'll simply dig in his heels and wait it out. He'll never take a wife, not while knowing Steven still returns his affections."_

"_You want him to doubt Steven's intentions."_

"_Not to be cruel." Howard pursed his lips. "I'm aware it will sting. But rough though it may be, I believe it's the smoothest path."_

"_The smoothest path to marriage. Not the smoothest for Anthony." It wasn't a rebuke, just a comment._

"_One ought to equal the other, in time." Howard sighed. He seemed to hope, anyway. "A wife will help him heal."_

"_She might." Nick was more dubious of that._

"_This is hardly an official matter, don't bother to curb your tongue." Howard waved a hand impatiently for him to speak his mind._

"_I've always known they shared a deep bond. I thought it friendship, but regardless of its nature a trust of that measure broken is not easily mended. I doubt Anthony will see a wife as anything more than a replacement." Nick fell silent a moment, re-reading the letter. Then he folded it up, returned it. Howard wasn't second-guessing himself, wasn't the kind to. He'd do anything necessary for his kingdom and for his son; still, Nick knew his opinion was valued. "Steven's intentions seem true, but he is young yet. They both are. Emotions are volatile, at that age. Only time will tell the nature of this all."_

_Howard nodded absently, seeming to agree. He turned the letter over in his hands once, before tucking it away again. "Though my son will be a fine king one day, he has yet to fully grasp the nature of the crown. Steven, oddly enough, seems to understand it better: we belong to our people before we belong to ourselves. Anthony owes his kingdom a future, an heir, before he owes himself love. I hope one day he might heal enough to allow himself both."_

"_Will you tell him, then?"_

"_If Steven returns." Howard nodded. "If he doesn't, the past may as well stay buried. But if he does—and, if he knows my son as well as I suspect he does, that won't be for many years—I'll give Anthony the letter then. He'll scream at me until he's hoarse, I'm sure, but my son is intelligent beyond his years. He'll know my reasons, and he'll understand."_

Nick hadn't envied the choice Howard had to make then, and he didn't appreciate being left to pick up the pieces of it now.

"I asked you a question," Anthony demanded, the sharp tone immediately pulling Nick from his lapse into reverie, "I expect an answer."

"There was no right time," Nick said finally. He moved to his desk, opening the top drawer and removing the false bottom. "Not for something like this."

"You _have _it?" Anthony seemed torn between anger and something close to relief, though there was certainly a fair amount of bewilderment. "You've had that for ten goddamn years and you never…do you not have an ounce of mercy in you?"

"Showing you wasn't my decision to make." Nick shook his head, withdrawing the note from the drawer.

"Whose was it, exactly?" Anthony grit his teeth. "Certainly not mine, as I clearly don't make any decisions around here at all."

"Your father thought—"

"Don't." Tony held up a hand firmly, then turned it palm up in demand for the letter. "That's plenty. I don't need to hear whatever it is Howard told himself. Just…give me the letter."

Nick nodded. He disagreed, but he could attempt an explanation again when Anthony had calmed. He passed it over and Anthony accepted the letter carefully, his fingers running over the edges of the parchment with an anxious sort of care. He seemed to realize he was doing it after a moment, hastily tucking the letter into his shirt pocket and giving Nick a stiff nod. Nick gave a sigh as Anthony left without another word, wondering how long he'd have to wait for Anthony to clear the hallway before he could leave himself in search of a drink.

It was what Howard would've done, after all.

* * *

It was a long time before Steve could bring himself to leave the room. Should he have gone after Tony? He wasn't certain. He was never certain what to do when it came to Tony anymore, which was unnerving in and of itself. He'd always known how to act around him, when to reach out and when to give him time, how to respond. Now…he couldn't be sure. Time had muddled things he'd only ever known to be crystal clear. He could relearn Tony's cues and of course he wanted to, would always want to, but did Tony want him to? Did Tony want him at all? Steve had never seen him so angry, so bitter and resentful and miserable all at once. He deserved every inch of retribution Tony could deal out, he knew, but he couldn't help wondering if all that rage had clouded Tony's love for him or already dissolved it.

More importantly, Steve supposed, did he even still deserve it? Even if Tony could forgive him, Bruce had been right; having all the facts laid out in front of him, Steve wasn't certain he could forgive himself. He'd known he'd hurt Tony, but to come face to face with the true consequences of his actions was another matter entirely. He'd thrown Tony's trust away on a naïve, zealous impulse, and for what? Tony hadn't found anyone else, hadn't even needed to. With Peter…

God, Peter.

Peter was a blood heir, though indirect. Peter could rule one day. Nothing about Steve's leaving had put anything into place there, his presence couldn't have prevented a fire in some other part of the kingdom, Peter would've always fallen into Tony's custody but if Steve had stayed…he would've been there, too. With an heir lined up, who was to say they couldn't have had every ludicrous, wildly hopeful dream they'd ever dreamed? They could've married, could've taken in Peter together, could've been together all this time and for all the years to come, could've—could've—

They could've had _everything._

The weight of that was utterly crushing. It settled heavy on Steve's shoulders as he fell into the nearest chair, leaning forward and covering his face with his hands to fight back the urge to break something, anything, something physical and tangible and satisfying, before he was the one who broke.

He'd left for nothing. He'd thrown away Tony's trust and broken both their hearts and tortured himself for the last decade for nothing. _Nothing. _He'd been an idiot and a martyr, everything Tony had called him and more. He could've had everything he'd ever wanted and he'd thrown it away on a childish, bitter whim. A tantrum, Bruce had called it, and a tantrum it was. What would it have been? Two, three years? He'd gone ten without so much as seeing Tony's face, he could've easily waited that long to be the happiest damn man in the world. Easily was an understatement; two, three years of having Tony in his arms, even in secret, sounded like nothing short of bliss. Two or three years and they could've had everything, but he'd been impatient and controlling and a Goddamned _idiot!_

He wished Tony hadn't already thrown the bottle. The shatter would've been satisfying.

He needed to move, to get some of this manic energy out before he let himself explode. He went in search of Bucky, who would be certain to give a good fight and was never afraid to hit low or fight dirty if he thought Steve needed a good beating to get out of his own head for a little while. His quarters were empty, as well as Sam's. Steve tried seeking out Barton next, who'd proved himself skilled and certainly wouldn't be adverse to handing Steve his ass a few times, but he found his friends along the way.

Well, found might not have been quite the right word.

He slammed into Bucky as he rounded a corner, Bucky running with enough momentum to nearly knock them both off their feet. Steve was about to catch his arm to steady the both of them when he caught sight of Peter balanced precariously on Bucky's shoulders. He reached for Peter instead, grabbing his wrists to yank him back upright.

"What were you thinki—?" Steve started, but Sam slammed into Bucky's back before he could finish. Peter teetered again, until Steve grabbed both his legs and held him steady.

"Why the hell did you stop like that?" Sam demanded of Bucky, then glanced over his shoulder. "Oh."

"Aw, Joe, don't give me that look," Bucky complained before Steve could even speak, "We were just having some fun."

"You were asking for trouble, running around like that." Steve shook his head. It would probably be funnier if he were in a better mood.

"Aw, Joe, c'mon," Peter chimed in, clearly mimicking Bucky, "I know how to hold on, Daddy taught me real good. Watch, see?"

He threw both arms around Bucky's throat tight as he could. Bucky made an indignant, squawking sort of sound as he choked, and Steve couldn't help a chuckle.

"Think you might be slipping off," Sam observed with a sly grin, "Better hold on a little tighter."

Bucky delivered a swift elbow to Sam's stomach, which did nothing to stop Sam from laughing harder as Peter squeezed tighter.

"Okay," Bucky wheezed, "I think that's enough for now."

"But then who's gonna be my horse?" Peter pouted as best he could, but Bucky hauled him down regardless. He turned to Sam, clasping both hands together.

"Uh uh, no way." Sam snorted. "I saw your deathgrip, kid."

Peter turned to Steve instead, pout at full power as he took Steve's pant leg in his little hands and tugged. "Pretty please, Just Joe?"

Steve gave a sigh of defeat. Peter grinned immediately. Bucky just looked at him knowingly as he lofted Peter into his arms, gave him a boost up to his shoulders. Peter threw both arms around his neck and nuzzled his cheek against the back of Steve's head gratefully.

"See?" Peter must've made a face of sorts, judging by Bucky and Sam's amused expressions. "Joe likes me."

"He sure does." Bucky got a sneaky look in his eyes. "In fact, I bet you could get Joe to do just about anything you asked."

"That's not—" Steve began, but Peter bounced a little on his shoulders. Steve had to grab Peter's legs to keep him from falling as he leaned forward enough that he was almost off Steve's shoulders entirely, making upside down eye contact.

"Really? Would you take me on an adventure?" Peter's whole expression lit up. Steve was powerless.

"Sure." Steve smiled back at him. "We can have as many adventures as you want."

"How selfless of you." Someone cleared their throat behind Steve. He turned to face a rather impassive-looking Rhodey. "But at the moment, we've got an assignment."

"Aw." Peter tugged on Steve's hair a little, sounding despondent. "Does Just Joe hafta go, too? We were gonna have an adventure."

"Joe does as he pleases. Always has before." Rhodey narrowed his eyes at Steve. Steve was taken aback by Rhodey's directness, but before he could respond Rhodey was continuing, "If the three of you are coming, retrieve your armor and report to the front gates. We leave when the king is finished speaking with his advisor."

"Sir Rhodes—"

"The front gates, Sir Grant," Rhodey repeated firmly, then turned on his heel.

"Who pissed in his goblet?" Bucky muttered.

Steve reached up to cover Peter's ears. "Bucky."

"What?" Bucky protested.

"So you're gonna stay with me, right Joe?" Peter hugged his head.

"Well…" Steve glanced after Rhodey.

Tony would likely be on this assignment; he and Steve had always been alike in that respect, seeking out a good fight whenever their emotions were running too high. He wasn't certain he was ready to face Tony again so quickly, even in public. Perhaps especially in public. Tony's disinterested façade might have been necessary for the sake of appearances, but it never failed to make Steve's heart ache.

"Stay." Sam clapped a hand to his shoulder. "Peter, you're in charge of this lug while we're gone and he comes with instructions: no brooding allowed. Got it?"

"I don't brood," Steve protested, but Peter was already nodding vigorously.

"Sir yes sir," Peter told Sam cheerfully, "Y'hear that, Joe? _I'm _in charge."

"Yeah, I heard." Steve flicked his leg. "Squirt."

"Lug," Peter shot back, mimicking Sam now. A certain pair of someones had clearly won him over.

"You've been spending way too much time with these two," Steve decided.

"He better." Bucky reached up to ruffle Peter's hair, much to Peter's indignation, with a wink at Steve. "We're gonna be family."

Steve's good mood instantly evaporated. "That's not funny."

"Don't be such a sourpuss." Bucky rolled his eyes. "I see how he looks at you."

"Bucky—" Sam started to intervene.

"We are?" Peter bounced excitedly. "I always wanted a brother!"

"I was thinking more along the lines of uncle," Bucky mused.

"Not funny." Steve grit his teeth, the urge to break something seeping back into his system. He muttered instead, "Even if I could ever manage to be that lucky twice, you're not my brother."

"Words hurt, Joe." Bucky clasped a hand over his heart.

"Bucky, quit being a d—" Sam glanced up at Peter. "—unghead about it."

Peter giggled anyway. "Yeah, Bucky, don't be a dunghead."

"But Uncle Bucky has such a great ring to it," Bucky protested.

"Let's go." Sam nudged him along. "You're done talking for the day. Every time you open your mouth his kicked puppy face just gets worse."

"Kicked—hey, I—"

"You too." Sam gestured for him to shut up. "Save it. We're talking when we get back anyway, don't think we didn't catch your Tony Look earlier."

Steve opened his mouth to protest that he didn't have a Tony Look, but it would've been a lie and all three of them would've known it. Hell, Peter probably would've known it.

"What were you lookin' at my daddy for?" Peter asked curiously as Bucky and Sam left to retrieve their armor.

"A multitude of reasons." Steve sighed. "It's complicated."

"What's a multude?"

"Multitude. It means a lot."

"Like cause he's king?" Peter asked, "Is that a reason?"

"I suppose," Steve answered evasively. If that was one of his reasons, it was certainly a very low one.

"Bruce says when Sir Rhodey gets the 'Tony Look' it means he's got a headache," Peter told him, "Does Daddy give you headaches too?"

Heartaches, maybe. "No. Well, not anymore."

"He used to?" Peter crossed both arms over Steve's head, resting his chin there.

"All the time." Steve couldn't help a fond smile. "The things your father got up to drove me nuts. He was always dragging me into one scheme or another, and he always managed to wind up with a new bump or bruise, another scar for his collection."

"When?" Peter quirked his head a little.

"When we were ki—" Steve froze. "When, ah. When we've been on assignments these past weeks, mostly. Entirely. So how about that adventure, huh?"

"Oh." Peter seemed to still be considering Steve's slip for a moment, before the idea of an adventure fully registered. "Yeah! Where can we go?"

"I know the perfect place. Where's your room? You'll need a bag."

"It's next to Daddy's, in the west end." Peter played with a strand of Steve's hair as Steve started off in that direction. "What do I need a bag for?"

"Every proper adventurer needs a bag. Your father's the best adventurer I know, he must've taught you that much." Steve could still remember the gleam in Tony's eyes as he'd looped an old satchel around Steve's neck before yanking him along by the strap, shouting about pixies in the glen and, "You never know what interesting things you could encounter on an adventure, you have to be prepared."

"That makes sense," Peter decided, patting Steve's hair down, "So where are we going? How are we gonna get there? Am I gonna need my mud shoes? Or what about my sword, in case of bandits? Are we gonna go into bandit territory?"

"You Starks, always so nosy." Steve laughed. "It's a surprise, you'll find out where we're going when we get there. Though, mud shoes might be a good idea."

"There's gonna be mud?" Peter brightened, like any proper seven year old boy would.

"Thought you might like that." Steve grinned.

"Y'sure I shouldn't take my sword?" Peter tried again, "I'm real handy with it."

"Any bandits come after you, I've got all we need right here." Steve squeezed Peter's ankles lightly.

"My feet?" Peter peered down at him curiously.

Steve laughed. "My hands. Not that there'll be bandits where we're going, but should they surprise us I'm better with hand to hand than I am with a sword anyway. We'll be just fine."

"I hope they do." Peter bounced a little. "Cause you'd go tougher on them than the knights, right? Kick their butts if they came after me? That'd be real neat."

"Of course I would." Steve frowned up at him. "Peter, do people come after you often?"

"No." Peter shrugged. "Only the once."

"The once? Did they catch whoever tried?"

"Oh, yeah." Peter nodded vigorously. "Sir Happy says it was a real big deal. They won't tell me what happened, but Daddy said he won't ever, ever come back."

"Ah." An execution, then. Probably Tony's first. Another event Tony could've used his support in and Steve had been nowhere to be found.

"Can I get a hint?" Peter pestered after a moment, "Just a little one?"

"What's blue and rhymes with moon?" Steve queried.

"Aw, not a riddle," Peter complained, "That's hard."

"You wanted a hint," Steve chuckled, "There's your hint."

"Boon? Tune? Dune? Loon? Goon? Boon? Foon?" Peter, like his father, clearly wasn't one to puzzle in silence.

"Foon isn't a word," Steve corrected with a laugh, "And I think you said boon twice. Do you know what a boon is?"

"No, is it blue?"

"It's a treasure."

"We're going treasure hunting?" Peter bounced excitedly, almost wiggling right off Steve's shoulders.

"Yes, though that's not what's blue and rhymes with—"

"Treasure!" Peter whooped, ignoring the latter part of Steve's sentence. Steve let him; judging by his guessing pattern, Steve doubted he would get to "lagoon" anytime soon.

"Which door, Pete?" Steve asked as he approached the west corridor, pulling a reluctant Peter off his shoulders.

"That one." Peter pointed to the second to last door on the left. "You'll let me back up once I got my stuff, right?"

"I'm not sure…" Steve teased, "You're rather heavy…"

"But what's an adventurer without his noble steed?" Peter insisted. Steve laughed loud enough they probably heard him in the east end.

"What, so I'm just your horse, that's how it is?"

"Duh." Peter grinned cheekily. "Dunghead."

"Think you're going to get away with that, do you?" Steve declared, grabbing at Peter's side to tickle him. Peter gave a giggly sort of shriek and took off down the hall. Steve gave chase, giving him just enough space to get to the door before swooping in to scoop him up and tickle him more. "You're secretly a little brat, aren't you? Just like your fath—"

The door next to Peter's opened. Steve froze.

Tony stood less than a yard away, clearly caught just as off guard as Steve. For a flicker of a moment, the walls between them vanished and Steve could read him like they were eighteen again, young and naïve and absolutely perfect together. He'd clearly heard what Steve had said, or half said, but he'd also heard the fondness of Steve's tone and understood the comment for the display of affection it was instead of the insult someone else might take it for. He saw the rush of longing in Tony's eyes, could see the blur of thoughts, the messy mix of what-ifs and could-have-beens all blended together. But it was only a moment, then the walls were back up and Tony composed himself and stepped forward to pinch Peter's arm.

"You're not terrorizing my knights again, are you?"

"No,"Peter insisted petulantly, "He's ter'rizing me, he's using tickle torture!"

"He's a cheater, that one." Tony nodded sagely, taking another step forward to press a kiss to Peter's forehead and advise, "Get him behind the knees, he'll cry like a baby."

"That is blatantly untrue," Steve protested on principle.

"I remember differently," Tony hummed, the beginnings of what might've been a smile curling at the edges of his mouth.

"I remember that if you so much as pretend to tickle a certain someone's neck he'll leap out of his skin." Steve was all but beaming back, he knew, but he couldn't help himself. He felt so inordinately pleased with even the smallest of smiles; not only was it a step forward, but it was the first one he'd earned from Tony in ten years and damn if that didn't make him feel more buzzed than alcohol ever had.

"That was shared in confidence," Tony groaned, a touch dramatic for Peter's sake, "If Peter knows, the whole _kingdom_ will know! My secret's out for good."

"Nu-uh!" Peter scowled. "I can keep a secret!"

"Who reported to Bruce whenever I sneezed last sick season?" Tony demanded with an aura of faux sternness.

"He made me!" Peter insisted, "He used a spell or somethin'!"

"He did _not." _Tony poked Peter in the side, earning a giggle. "Don't you lie to me."

"Okay, he didn't," Peter admitted, before adding hastily, "But I can too keep a secret!"

"Not from me, you can't." Tony pinched his nose.

"Can too!" Peter swatted Tony's hand away and stuck out his tongue. "I have one right now."

"Oh really?" Tony raised an amused eyebrow. "Is it that you've got a little bit of a crush on that Gwendolyn girl, because—"

"_Dad!" _Peter yelped. He glanced up at Steve worriedly. "I do not!"

"I promise I won't tell, Peter." Steve just laughed.

"I _don't," _Peter insisted, before pausing guiltily, "But you promise?"

"Cross my heart and swear to die," Steve told him solemnly. He missed the exact moment Tony's mood shifted, but when he glanced back up the almost-smile he'd worked for had disappeared. It'd been replaced with a tight, too-thin attempt that came out more like a grimace.

"And you always keep your promises, don't you?"

Steve wilted. "Tony—"

"No." Tony shook his head, started to walk past. "I shouldn't have—never mind it. Let's just—I was leaving anyway, we've got an assignment. Be good, Peter."

"Tony, wait, Peter and I were going to—remember the muddy lagoon down past that old clearing, through Hangman's Grove?"

"Yes…" Tony said tentatively, "The one with all the—?"

"Right," Steve interrupted hastily before Tony could ruin the surprise for Peter, "I bet it's still full of those. I was going to take Peter and show him. If that's okay, obviously, you weren't around and I—but if you wanted to come, I'd really—that'd be—you always found the best ones anyway, I just thought maybe you could—"

Tony put him out of his misery with a shake of his head. "I should go with the others."

"Aw, c'mon Daddy!" Peter all but launched himself out of Steve's arms to grab Tony's arm. "Please? It's gonna be an adventure! Joe says you're the best at adventures!"

"Does he now?" A bit of amusement flickered in Tony's eyes before he tamped it down again.

"Because you are." Steve aimed for earnest, hoping to bring Tony's good humor back. "You don't have to, but I'd really like it if you came, Tony."

The pause before Tony answered was awful and felt absolutely endless.

"I must be out of my mind," Tony mumbled. Steve's hopes jumped. "Don't look at me like that, just try not to abandon Peter and I in the middle of the forest."

The comment stung, but that was okay. That was more than okay, that was fine, was great, was utterly perfect and Steve would happily—well, gracefully, at least—accept a million more jabs like that if it meant Tony would begin consenting to spend time with him again.

"Never," Steve swore.

Tony snorted, understanding and dismissing Steve's larger promise, but that was okay too. That was a start.


	7. Chapter 7

For perhaps the hundredth time in the past half hour, Tony couldn't help but wonder what in the hell he was doing.

He considered, yet again, backing out and doubling back to meet up with the knights, but he'd already sent a serving hand to tell them not to wait; they'd be long gone by now. He shot another glance Steve's way. Peter had grabbed Steve's hand at one point for help getting over a log and hadn't let go since, bouncing along at Steve's feet as they made their way through the woods. Steve didn't seem to mind, was just beaming down at Peter happily and listening to him chatter away, something about a riddle and things that rhymed with moon. Tony couldn't help the clench of wistful longing at the image, nor the way his heart clung to it.

Perhaps if he took one of the faster horses he could still catch up with the knights.

"What d'you think, Daddy?" Peter twisted to his right to peer up at Tony eagerly.

"Don't cheat." Steve shook Peter's hand in reprimand. "He already knows where we're going."

"You've been there before?" Peter asked, "You've seen the treasure?"

"Many times." Tony nodded.

"How come you never took me?" Peter demanded.

"It was S—" Tony cleared his throat. He was getting too careless. "Joe found it. It's Joe's treasure to share."

"Have you been back there?" Steve asked, carefully meeting his eyes. "Since the last time?"

"Why would I?" Tony shrugged stiffly. It was a non-answer, but the thought of telling Steve how many times he'd gone out there to sit on their rock and wait for someone who'd never come was entirely unappealing.

"No reason, I suppose." Steve looked away.

"Hey, Just Joe?" Peter squeezed Steve's hand eagerly for his attention. Tony wasn't certain where the 'just' had come from, but Steve was smiling again so it seemed to make sense to him, at least. An inside joke, he supposed. He wasn't entirely certain how he felt about Steve having inside jokes with his son. "Can Bucky and Sam come next time?"

"You're getting a little lax with your 'sirs' there, Pete," Tony warned. Most of the knights told Peter just to call them by name, but it was still disrespectful to do so without permission. "Did they say you could?"

"It's fine, Bucky's gonna be my uncle," Peter chirped. Tony stumbled. Steve reached over to steady him, but Tony jerked his arm away. Steve held his gaze a moment, before dropping it along with his outstretched hand.

"I told you, Peter." Steve sighed softly. "He isn't going to be anyone's uncle."

"He's right. I'd have to marry for that, and we're all quite aware that's never happening." Tony couldn't help the bitter vitriol with which he said it any more than he could help himself from elbowing Steve a little as he moved past him. "Come along, Peter. It's just around the corner here."

Steve followed in silence, which Tony supposed said enough. It wasn't as if he'd been hoping—at least, he hadn't genuinely _believed—_well. Maybe he had. Maybe a small part of him had thought…Steve had come back, after all. Too late and too stubborn, but he'd come back. They'd fought and ignored each other in turns, but he was back, he was _here. _He was less than a fucking yard away and Tony…he'd hoped. That was his problem, wasn't it? Always hoping too much, always holding on too long, always grasping for one last chance at something he should've known he could never keep.

"Tony…" Steve started, but Peter was interrupting loudly before he could get anything more substantial out.

"Is that it? Are we here? Wow!"

They'd just passed the last cluster of trees, revealing their destination. It was just as beautiful as Tony remembered it, the grass spotted with flowers and the lagoon just down the hill glittering in the sunlight. It'd been years since he'd been here last. Not a decade, but at least a year or two. Little had changed. If he closed his eyes, he could almost picture it; taking Steve's hand and whisking him off down the hill with a whoop of laughter as they lost their footing. There was no making it down that hill without slipping, it was too steep and too muddy, impossible to walk down so they'd long stopped trying. They just went with it, sliding down together and laughing like idiots. They'd spent entire days here before, stripping down and wading into the water, seeking out its treasures or just splashing around and having fun, spending the later hours lying out on the largest, flattest rock to try and dry themselves before they had to go back home. They'd always returned starved, dehydrated, and burnt brown as berries, but with smiles so wide it nearly hurt. It'd been worth it, though. Everything back then had always been so worth it.

"How do we get down there?" Peter peered down the steep hill.

"We slide." Steve grinned, giving Peter the lightest of pushes, just enough to land him on his butt. He skidded down the rest of the hill, laughing like a maniac the whole way.

"He'll need a bath tonight, now," Tony couldn't help pointing out, irrationally annoyed. There wasn't any real reason for it, he'd given Peter a hundred baths and it wasn't as if taking care of his son was any _real _hardship, but it wasn't about that. It was about this damn place and how it made him think, how Steve kept fucking _smiling _at him and how that wasn't helping either. "Do you have any idea how hard it is to wrangle him into a bathtub?"

"No," Steve admitted quietly, smile dropping. Tony expected to feel better; he felt worse.

"It's a nightmare," he snapped, "He shrieks like a banshee."

"I'm sorry, Tony."

"Sorry for what?" Tony spat, "Can you even keep track of it all anymore?"

"Everything," Steve answered immediately, "All of it, I just—"

He reached to take Tony's wrist again, maybe to keep him there since he could likely sense that Tony felt like fleeing, he wasn't sure. He yanked his hand away anyway, hissing, "_Stop_ trying to touch me!"

Steve pulled back immediately, the hurt in his expression not tucked away nearly fast enough to escape Tony's notice. "I don't mean to. It's—old habit. I'll try to stop."

"Do." Tony didn't waste time thinking about how strange it still felt to deny Steve's touch, to push him away instead of pull him in. "You came back to serve at my side not relive old memories, remember?"

Steve shook his head. "I came back for you, Tony. My place is wherever you want me."

"Don't," Tony ordered harshly. Didn't he know how cruel it was to say things like that? "You didn't give a damn about where I wanted you back then, am I supposed to believe you do now?"

"I'll have to earn it." A fierce, all too familiar determination had begun to seep into Steve's eyes. "I know that. But I will, Tony. No matter how long it takes, I swear to you that I'll never stop trying to earn your trust back."

Tony didn't know how to respond to Steve's earnest sincerity so he didn't attempt to, just dropped into the mud and slid down the hill to Peter. When he reached the bottom, he stood, brushed himself off as best he could, and scooped up Peter by the back of his shirt.

"Try not to swim in the mud, would you? Honestly."

"I'm _not," _Peter insisted, "I'm lookin' for the treasure."

"The treasure's in the lagoon," Tony told him, ruffling his mud-streaked hair, "Come on, I'll show you."

They made their way past the muddy, swampy area surrounding it and approached the lagoon itself. Tony unlaced his boots and took them off, putting them by where Peter had abandoned his bag. He then cuffed his trousers and did the same for Peter before letting him run into the water.

"All I see are rocks," Peter admitted, poking his toes around in the sand.

"Hm." Tony bent down a little, sifted through the sand until he recognized the feel of what he was looking for. He lifted the heftier rock out of the sand, turning it over to show Peter. "Nothing special about this?"

Peter looked at him with obvious confusion. "It's just a rock, Daddy."

"If you say so…"

Tony couldn't help an amused smile, standing upright again and turning to heave it as hard as he could manage against the large rock formation at the base of the hill. The rock cracked and splintered into various pieces that fell to the grass. Peter gaped up at him.

"Whoa," he whispered, awestruck.

"Daddy's a little stronger than you thought, huh?" Tony teased him. Peter nodded vigorously. "Come on, let's go collect our treasure."

Peter's amazement dipped back into confusion. "But it's still just a rock."

"You think so?" Tony retrieved the first piece, tossed it lightly to Peter. Peter's eyes went wide.

"Whoa!"

He'd picked a good one; this particular geode was filled with purple-pink crystals that glittered in the sun as Peter tilted it back and forth.

"They're called geodes," Steve told Peter, "They're special rocks with crystals inside them."

"Can I touch them?" Peter already had a finger hovering over the edges.

"I wouldn't press too hard, the tips can be a little pointy, but you can touch it if you're careful." Tony nodded.

Peter turned it over in his hands, mouth still hanging open a little as he examined it with stunned amazement.

"Are they all like this?" Peter glanced down at the rocks by his feet.

"Some of them." Tony rejoined him in the water to try and find another. "You want to find big rocks that feel lighter than they should be."

"They're also pretty circular," Steve added, discarding his boots to join them, "And a little rough on the outside."

"Is this one?" Peter lofted a rock up, big enough to almost drag him fully into the water.

"Too big," Tony advised. He ferreted out another, passed it over to Peter to examine. Peter still needed two hands, but this one seemed easier for him to lift. "This size is good. And like I said, lighter than you'd think."

"Can I throw it?" Peter bounced a little. Tony laughed.

"It takes a pretty good throw, buddy. You might need to get a bit bigger before you can do this yourself."

"But can I _try?" _Peter insisted eagerly.

"Sure." Tony smiled, pointing out exactly where he should throw it. "Alright, like I taught you: left foot forward, right hand back. Little farther, there you go."

"Like this?"

"Your elbow's a little wide," Tony corrected, adjusting Peter's elbow. "Good, you've got it. Give it your best."

Peter scrunched up his face and chucked it hard as he could. He recoiled almost immediately, turning away and wincing almost as soon as he let go. It threw his throw off, but the geode wasn't going to make it to the rock face anyway. It landed with a splash in the water, drawing Peter's attention. His face fell and he looked horribly disappointed, a bit like he might begin to cry, so Tony quickly crouched to his level, began to calm him down.

"These rocks are a just little too heavy for you right now, Pete. Give it a year or two, you'll be great at it."

"I bet he could do it." Peter kicked one of the rocks, shooting an embarrassed glance at Steve.

"Can I tell you a secret, Peter?" Steve approached them slowly, like he was worried Tony might shoo him away. Part of Tony wanted to. He didn't though, so Steve crouched down with them. "When I was your age, I'm not even sure I could _lift _that rock you just threw, much less get it that far."

"Really?" Peter gave a little sniff, rubbing at his nose, which was a good sign that he was settling down. Peter had always been a bit quick to cry, but they'd been working on it lately.

"Definitely." Steve nodded. "I was so small a gust of wind could knock me down. You're much stronger than I was."

"But you're real strong now," Peter pointed out.

"I guess that means you're going to be even stronger than me someday, huh?" Steve smiled at Peter kindly.

"You think?" Peter brightened a little.

"I sure do," Steve told him, smile widening, "In fact, I think you'll be the best of all of us."

"Thanks, Just Joe." Peter finally gave a full smile. Tony bumped his shoulders a little.

"I've only told you that a hundred times," Tony teased him, "But when _he _says it you believe him?"

"You're my daddy, you _hafta _say it," Peter protested, but affectionately wrapped his arms around Tony's neck anyway. Tony hoisted him up, going in search of where Peter's geode had fallen.

"Doesn't mean it's not true. How about we give that a second go?" Tony kissed Peter's cheek, then bent to pick up what he was fairly sure was the right rock—well, it wasn't as if Peter would know, anyway—and placed it in Peter's hand. "Alright, stretch your arm back."

"But I can't do it." Peter's pout began to return, so Tony clicked his tongue.

"None of that, no pouting. How old are you?"

"Seven," Peter mumbled.

"My big boy, right? Come on, get that arm back." Tony waited until Peter complied, then, "Now close your eyes."

"Why?"

"You gonna ask me questions all day, or are you gonna listen?" Tony teased. Peter huffed an exaggerated, annoyed sigh before closing his eyes. Tony used his free hand to take the geode from Peter's palm and chuck it at the rock face. Peter's eyes shot open just in time to watch it splinter and crack open. "Wow, what a throw, Pete!"

"Da-ad." Peter rolled his eyes, but he was hiding a smile so Tony considered it a win.

"Heck of a throw," Steve agreed, fighting a smile much like Peter was, "Much better than your father."

"Better than you could do." Teasing him came naturally, without a second thought; it was Steve's pleased smile and how much it hurt to see that brought Tony back to reality. He glanced away. Steve, seeming to sense the moment wasn't meant to last, didn't say anything further. "Why don't you find us some more, Peter?"

"I find 'em, you throw 'em?" Peter squirmed out of his grip.

"Sounds perfect."

Tony pressed another quick kiss to Peter's cheek before letting him down and watching him set off in search. He seemed to put in a genuine effort to stay dry for a minute or two, but it quickly became apparent that cuffing his pants to keep him dry had been wishful thinking on Tony's part; soon enough, Peter was practically swimming to find more geodes for he and Steve to crack open.

"Peter." Tony raised an eyebrow at him once he surfaced. "You know this means you're going to have a bath tonight."

"Isn't this a bath?" Peter splashed his hands a little. He seemed to have given up completely on staying dry, now sitting in the sand with his chin just an inch or two above water.

"Definitely not." Tony warily eyed the slimy-looking plant touching Peter's leg. "Besides, you've got sand in your hair, we'll need to wash it out."

"I do not." Peter scowled petulantly, taking a gulp of air before ducking back under the water.

Steve had been quiet for a while now. Tony was torn between the desire to stir up some form of conversation and the knowledge that it would only be awkward. What could he even say? Small talk seemed a little pathetic honestly, in light of everything, not to mention somewhat ridiculous—

"You're a wonderful father."

It took him a moment to realize Steve had actually spoken. When he did, he couldn't help the way his shoulders stiffened on a shrug. "I've had practice."

"I always thought you would be." Steve wasn't looking at him but at Peter, watching him with a small smile. Tony glanced over as well. Peter was coming up for air sporadically, but he was busy collecting geodes to crack open and paying them little to no attention even when he could hear them. Steve continued before Tony could respond. "Do you remember when that griffin took up nest in part of the kingdom?"

"Hard thing to forget," Tony admitted, though he didn't understand Steve's segue.

"We went out to chase it out—"

"_I _went to chase it out," Tony interrupted crossly, "_You _refused to get off my damn horse."

"Right." A flicker of a smile crossed Steve's lips. "And when we got there, your father and his knights all went after the griffin, but you went right for the civilians."

"He ordered me to—"

"And you always follow orders." Steve smiled a little wider. "Orders or not, I still remember how you spoke to them. Those children were scared out their minds and I'm not sure anyone else could've convinced them to move, but you did. You were calm and patient, exactly what they needed."

Tony needed a moment to clamp down the surge of longing for everything that could've been, before he admitted, "You aren't bad yourself. With Peter. I've seen—earlier, and around. You're good with him. He really…" He knew how bitter he sounded, but it was better than letting Steve hear the fear that lay underneath. "He really cares about you. When you leave again he's going to be devastated."

Steve flinched. "Not when."

"You sure about that?" Tony couldn't meet his eyes, just looked out at the water instead. "Feels like a when."

"I deserve that. I know I do. And you can say those things as often as you like, I deserve it, but I'm not going anywhere." Steve shook his head firmly. "I won't do that to you."

"You did it once." Tony gave a bitter sort of laugh. "What's so different about twice?"

"Because I've seen the consequences," Steve insisted, his mouth making that miserable sort of twist Tony had seen far too much of, lately. "I've seen the pain I caused you and I couldn't—if I'd known how much my leaving would hurt you I would never have been able to do it."

"You were my everything." It wasn't news, just old facts facing harsh new light. "And you really thought that I wouldn't, what? Miss you? That I didn't need you? Did I not tell you that enough? Did I not make it damned clear how much I—"

_Love you _was right there on the tip of his tongue, but he shut his mouth and clenched his jaw to hold it back. Love, loved, he wasn't sure anymore. That present tense had been about to slip probably said it all, but whether or not he meant it, he didn't _want _to mean it. More importantly, he didn't want to know how Steve would respond to it. If Steve no longer loved him…how was he supposed to come back from that?

"Of course you did." Steve's strained voice brought him back. He couldn't meet Steve's eyes so he watched his hands, the way they twitched at his sides. Steve was trying not to touch him again, he could tell that much. "You told me every day. More than every day, you told me every time we got a moment alone and I saw it in your eyes when we weren't; I heard it from you more than I even deserved to, it wasn't that I didn't know—"

"You just didn't care."

"_No," _Steve insisted, a desperate sort of frustration leaking into his voice. He lost his control briefly, reached for Tony before realizing his mistake and jerking back. "I care, Tony. Don't ever think that I don't care. I'm not saying I had it worse than you because I _didn't _and I know that but I—it was hard for me, too. Don't think that it wasn't. Don't think that I didn't want to come home to you every Goddamned day—"

"You want to know the difference?" Tony looked at him finally, faced the misery and the desperation all too clear in his eyes. Ten years had changed a lot, but Steve would always be an open book to him. "You had a choice. You got to sit there with all your pain and _decide _to stick it out. _Decide _to put everything we had in a box and shove it to the back of your mind—"

"I _never—"_

"_I _never," Tony interrupted forcefully, "Had a choice. Not once. I didn't choose if you left. I didn't choose if I could follow, though you better fucking believe I tried my best to. I ran away half a dozen times looking for you, but you eluded me every time. I didn't choose if I could read your stupid letter, didn't choose if or when you came back. Every day, you made the choice to stay away from me. I never got that. I got to wonder. I got to doubt. For ten years, I could never be sure if everything we'd ever had was just a lie, or if you'd been taken from me and I was just too weak to stop it, too _stupid _to even realize it—"

"Tony." Steve's voice cracked over his name. Steve had always had a knack for filling his name with a speech's worth of meanings, imbibing a hundred different things into one short word. He hadn't honestly thought there were any new ways left for Steve to say his name at this point, but there it was.

"Don't." Tony shook his head, turning back to face the lagoon. Peter was underwater again, thankfully, not that Tony had remembered about anyone else in the world for a moment there. "Just…let it go."

"I'm not sure I ever learned how to do that, with you." Steve's smile was wry, not humorous so much as wistful. "I'll find a way, Tony. I'll earn your trust back."

"How?" Tony finally looked at him. It wasn't a demand, but a plea. "How am I ever supposed to trust you again? If someone had told me then that you'd leave…I'd have laughed. I'd have laughed until my stomach ached. I couldn't even imagine the thought of it, didn't believe it when they told me, didn't believe it when the evidence stared me in the face. How am I ever supposed to return to that state of ignorance? The people we were, the way things were…it's gone. Maybe you should've just stayed gone, too."

He only had the briefest of moments to catch the devastated look in Steve's eyes before a large splash drew his attention. He froze when he saw that Peter had dropped his armful of rocks to stare at them with wide eyes. "What do you mean, he shoulda stayed gone?"

Shit.

"Nothing, he just—" Tony started.

"He's not Steve's cousin, is he?" Peter's eyes lit up. He ignored Tony's protest to wade over to them excitedly, grabbing at Steve's pant leg. "You're him, aren't you? That's why you know so much about Daddy, and the kingdom, and where this place is, because _you're really him—"_

"No, he's just—" Tony tried again, but Steve crouched down to take Peter very seriously by the shoulders.

"Peter, I need you to listen to me, okay? You can't tell _anyone. _Do you understand? Not anyone. Only a few people know, and that's how I'd like it to stay."

Tony loved his son with everything he was, but he didn't for one second imagine his little blabbermouth would be able to hold something like that in for more than twenty-four hours at best. At worst, he'd be running off to tell his friends within moments of returning to the castle.

"How come?" Peter was too busy all but vibrating with energy to be too put out about keeping it a secret, at least for the moment.

"I used this name to become a knight," Steve admitted, "I needed a noble seal and I don't have one."

_He lied, essentially, _sat on Tony's tongue, but he managed to restrain himself. It was one thing to be bitter to Steve, but he wasn't going to disparage his son's hero in front of him.

"But Joseph Grant does," Peter worked out.

"Right." Steve smiled. "And I can best protect your father if I'm a knight. You want him to stay safe, don't you?"

It rubbed the wrong way. Tony grit his teeth to keep from snapping at him all over again about how he didn't need any damned protection and to stop projecting his hero complex, but Peter spoke before he could calm down enough to say it normally.

"Does he need protecting?" Peter's expression was doubting, at the very least confused, and Tony loved him endlessly for it.

"Well." Steve blinked, clearly a little taken aback. "Of course. He's the king, it's a bit of a dangerous job."

"Yeah, but he's the strongest there is." Peter's brow scrunched together. "Have you seen him fight?"

"He refuses to fight me," Tony put in.

"And you know perfectly well why." Tony could see the little jump of muscle that meant Steve was gritting his teeth. That Tony kept insisting on wanting to go to blows was a sore spot for him, one Tony couldn't resist prodding at every chance he got.

"He's real good, though." Peter patted Steve's arm for his attention. "The very best. You'll see. Daddy can protect himself, he promised."

Tony knew where that was coming from. Peter had never been short of people to rely on, not the way the knights adored him, but he was still young enough not to be embarrassed about how attached he was to Tony in particular. Tony had certainly never been against it; if anything, it was probably his fault for encouraging it. When Peter had first come into his care, Tony had wanted desperately to feel needed. He'd lost his parents, cousins, and first love all in the space of just a few years, and here was an infant who not only wanted him but _needed _him, who couldn't leave or be taken away. So he'd always encouraged Peter's attachment, which made leaving for assignments that much harder. For a long time, Peter had made him swear up down and sideways every time he left that he could protect himself, that he would come home safe and sound.

"You want me to trust you?" He told Steve, "Try trusting me. Peter gets it and he's seven; how is it that you can't seem to grasp that?"

"Seven and a half of a half," Peter corrected seriously.

"Well, if a seven and half of a half year old can understand." Steve's lips twitched up just a bit at Tony, before he glanced back to Peter. "I'm going to work on that. And you're going to work on keeping my secret, right Peter?"

"Uh-huh." Peter nodded vigorously. "I sure will, Ste—I mean, Joe. Just Joe. Joe Grant. Sir Joe Grant."

Tony rubbed a hand over his face. This was going to last all of ten minutes. "New plan. Sir Rhodes has brought it to my attention that we're fairly lacking in subtlety as is. I've never required noble seals from my knights anyway, not really. I look for talent, not lineage. Natasha was a spy from another country before Clint dragged her in here and insisted I accept her defection to us, all proud of himself like a hound with a prize; you might as well just give up the charade and re-announce yourself."

"Do you enjoy putting yourself in danger?" Steve asked dryly, "Is that it? Because I'm trying to trust you know how to take care of yourself, but you make it awfully hard when you tell me you go around letting circus boys shoot at your head then turn around and bring in foreign spies."

"Please, Natasha could hand us both our backsides in a flat minute, she's more valuable than our entire treasury."

"I think you're missing my point—"

"I think I'm _ignoring _your point for the sake of a moment's peace—"

"So, I can tell people you're back?" Peter piped up, seemingly lost by the direction the conversation had taken.

"Sure, Peter." Steve gave a bit of a sigh, glancing Tony's way. "Rhodey and Bruce already know, that much I'm sure of. As do Bucky and Sam."

"Bruce was the one who told you about Pepper, wasn't he?" Tony shook his head when Steve's guilty expression gave him his answer. "I should've known. Thor knows, I'm almost certain. Nick absolutely does, he's had the letter all these years and I'm quite sure he knows how to read."

"He had—?" Steve startled.

"My father did at first, Nick came into possession of it after he passed."

"So you've—?"

Tony shook his head, cleared his throat awkwardly. "I'll get to it."

Steve's expression softened. "Tony—"

"I said I'll get to it." He pursed his lips, decidedly cutting off any further talk on the subject. "Rhodey's certainly told Happy, if Happy hasn't deduced it on his own. Phil knows everything, so I'm sure he's aware, and Natasha's kicked me under the banquet table too many times for her not to know as well. If she knows, Clint knows, which means I'm not certain there's anyone left to tell, frankly."

"Aw, but then who can _I_ tell?" Peter looked dejected.

"I'm sure Gwendolyn would love to hear all about the lost hero's return." Tony shot him a teasing smile. Peter blushed to the tips of his ears.

"Would you look at that, he's got your blush." Steve forgot himself long enough to shoot Tony a grin.

"I'm not blushing!" Peter insisted at the same moment Tony informed Steve, "I don't blush."

Steve just smiled wider. "Like father like son."

For the record, Tony was not the one to splash Steve. He was a king, he had composure and dignity and absolutely did not resort to splashing people when they teased him. Peter was the one who splashed Steve, as young, impulsive children, even princes, were prone to do.

Tony was the one who pushed him into the water.

And for a moment, right as Steve rose back up out of the water, shaking his soaked hair and slicking it back out of his face to gape up at Tony with stunned, pleased surprise, Tony could almost see it. Maybe it was the place, how the all the sun and water seemed to make Steve's eyes brighter and his smile easier, more boyish. Maybe it was having Peter there, seeing how good Steve was with him and how much Peter already adored him. Maybe there was nothing to it but Steve himself and Tony's eternal damned weakness for him, drawn in like the moth that loved the burn of the flame, making excuses all the way about warmth and light. He didn't know. He just knew that for a moment, Steve beamed up at him and he was sixteen all over again, anxious and terrified and completely out of line, but unable to resist the flare of hope that smile always gave him.

He remembered how it'd given him the courage all those years ago to grab Steve by the shirtfront and drag him in, more headbutting him than kissing him, really, the angle had been so wrong and he'd put more force into in than passion and his skill had been limited to a couple pecks on the cheek, but it'd still been worth it. Everything between them had always been so worth it. He'd never want to go through it again, but he'd take the decade of torture if it meant he got the eighteen years he'd been blessed with, every time. And he'd been trying so hard to be satisfied with that, to accept what he'd been granted and not give in to fantasies, not succumb to the thought that just because Steve was back meant there was any chance at the future he'd once been so sure of, but.

For just a moment, as Steve smiled and Peter laughed and they reached together to drag him in with them, Tony couldn't help the flicker of hope.


End file.
